


A Different Kind of Falling

by Lyrial



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bottom Castiel, Canon typical usage of alcohol as a coping mechanism, Canon-Typical Violence, Dean/Cas Big Bang Challenge, Dean/Cas Big Bang Challenge 2015, Explicit Sexual Content, Fallen Angel Dean, M/M, Michael!Dean, Minor Character Death, Non-Graphic Torture, Top Dean, Wing Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-19
Updated: 2015-11-19
Packaged: 2018-05-02 08:33:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 72,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5241710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lyrial/pseuds/Lyrial
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I will do it then,” Castiel said with confidence that he did not truly possess. “I will pretend to be a hunter and gain the trust of Dean Winchester so that we may locate Michael’s grace and restore him. I might not be as familiar with humanity as Balthazar is, but I am still a master tactician. I am certain that deceiving a few humans will be well within my capabilities.”</p>
<p>As the humans would say, famous last words.</p>
<p>(Dean is the fallen archangel Michael. Castiel is sent on a mission to restore him to his angelic self. Things get complicated, however, when Castiel finds himself falling for Dean.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A few words before we begin-
> 
> First off, a big thank you to my lovely artist, Bisma, for producing such awesome and adorable art for this fic! Please go on ahead to her [ao3](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5241614/) or [livejournal](http://moonliteknight.livejournal.com/8545.html) and show her some much-deserved love! <3
> 
> Another big thank you to my tireless (and extremely tolerant) betas/cheerleaders carzla and ella for listening to me whinge and ramble about this story, correcting all my stupid mistakes, and generally being wonderful sounding boards for my fic ideas as I cycled through half a dozen other plots before finally settling on this one. You guys rock! :'D And also all my gratitude to Laura for being so indulgent in answering my silly questions about America. Without her help, there would be a lot more 'rubbish bins' and 'petrol' in this story. Any remaining inaccuracies and mistakes are of course mine and mine alone.
> 
> And last but certainly not least, thank you to everyone who decided to take a chance on this fic. I hope you enjoy the story :)

 

 

_**Part I- A Falling Star**  _

Fate is kind  
She brings to those who love  
The sweet fulfillment of  
Their secret longing.

Like a bolt out of the blue  
Suddenly, it comes to you  
When you wish upon a star  
Your dreams come true.

\- _When You Wish Upon A Star_ , _Walt Disney’s Pinocchio_

**Prologue**

On the night of April 24th, 1978, over the skies of Lawrence, Kansas, a star fell.

It streaked down from the heavens, falling at an impossibly fast speed, burning a bright trail against the inky blackness of the night sky.

A man with dark golden-brown hair was watching its progress intently.

He stood in the middle of a vast cornfield— a small, lonely figure gazing up at the night sky from amidst a rippling sea of corn. The man was humming softly under his breath, and there was a sly, knowing smile on his lips.

“When you wish upon a star, your dreams come true,” he said to the night sky. “What are your dreams, brother?”

Only the soft whispering of the corn stalks as they rustled in the wind answered him.

Perhaps it was a reflection from the glow of the falling star, or perhaps it was some strange trick of the light, but for a moment the man’s honey-brown eyes seemed almost to glint a bright, unearthly gold.

There was a faint fluttering noise, a brief suggestion of wings. Then, in the space of a blink, the cornfield was empty, as if the man had never been there at all.

\---

Exactly nine months later to the day, Dean Winchester was born.

 

* * *

 

**Chapter 1**

_Approximately twenty-seven years later…_

Castiel watched the Impala trundle down the narrow dirt road, clouds of dust rising in its wake. He cut a forlorn figure in his suit and trench coat, staring at the dwindling silhouette of the car as it vanished into the distance.

The Winchesters had left him in the dust. Literally. How very fitting.

“Maybe,” Castiel said to the air, “I’m not as good at pretending to be human as I thought I was?”

Somewhere amongst the trees, a crow cawed. It sounded uncannily like laughter.

Castiel gave into a very human impulse and sighed. It was a long story how he had gotten here.

\---

In all his millennia of existence, Castiel had only ever seen the archangel Michael twice.

The first was at the time of Castiel’s creation.

Castiel had awakened to existence, spreading his newly formed wings with a sense of wonderment and awe. The powerful warmth of his Father’s love was still wrapped around him like a cocoon. He had opened his eyes and looked up, expecting his first sight to be his Father’s smiling face.

However, it was not God who had greeted him. It was Michael.

Michael’s face held no trace of warmth, and he was not smiling.

He was almost too bright to look upon, his grace burning with the near absolute power that their Father had gifted him with. Everything about him was flawless, from the coldly imperious eyes that were staring down at Castiel to the tips of his huge golden wings. He looked so beautiful, so perfect, that Castiel couldn’t help but lower his eyes in submission.

“Castiel,” Michael said, “Do you know your purpose?”

Castiel did. He was an angel of the Lord, and all angels knew their purpose from the moment of their creation.

“To serve,” Castiel answered easily.

“Good.” Michael nodded, satisfied. “You will make a fine soldier, Castiel. Do you know who I am?”

Again, the answer was easy. “You are Michael the archangel. Commander of the Heavenly Host.”

Michael inclined his head in acknowledgement. “Yes. Will you serve me and through me, our Father, faithfully? Will you defend His creations from harm and ensure that His will is done, on Earth and in Heaven?”

“Yes, I will.”

For the first time since Castiel opened his eyes, he saw Michael smile, and though it was cold and emotionless, the sight of it still filled Castiel with a pleasing sort of warmth.

“Rise then, Castiel, and do your duty.”

 

\---

 

The second time Castiel saw Michael was in the aftermath of the Great War that had ravaged Heaven and torn the Host asunder.

Castiel had received his fair share of wounds during the battle. His wings were badly torn, bones broken in places, and they felt almost too heavy to hold up. Worst of all were the gashes in his grace, from where the blades of his siblings had sliced into him. The pain was severe, but Castiel knew he had gotten off lightly.

Many of his siblings lay dead, the ash prints of their wings dark and ugly against the ground from where their grace had burnt out. Many others lay dying, in grave pain. Even the Rit Zien, the angels that were Heaven’s healers, had suffered so badly in the battle that there were too few of them to tend to all the wounded.

Castiel had stared wearily out at the battlefield, and there had been a bitter ache in him that transcended the physical. It was even more painful than the wounds in his wings, worse even than the gashes in his grace. It was the pain of having to fight his siblings, of watching his family, all he had ever known and loved, turn against each other.

And there was the uncertainty, a growing, gnawing doubt that was perhaps the most painful of it all.

_Is this right?_ Castiel wondered as he stared at the carnage that had been wrought. _Could this truly be our Father’s will?_

The battle was over now, at least for the moment, but nothing would ever be the same.

Castiel was distracted from those morose thoughts when there was a bright flash of light. Almost immediately, a hush fell over the battlefield.

Castiel looked up and saw that Michael had arrived.

He floated above them all, all three pairs of his great golden wings outspread. They blazed with a heavenly radiance that shed brilliant light upon the dark battleground that Heaven had become.

Michael was covered all over in terrible wounds, but he still looked as perfect and beautiful as ever. His face was resolute, his eyes fierce, as he looked over each of the gathered angels in turn.

As that piercing gaze raked over Castiel, Castiel felt his wings shiver involuntarily. Shame and fear rose in him at the memory of the doubts he had allowed to grow in his mind earlier.

Michael spoke, and his voice was filled with a cold triumph, “Lucifer has been defeated. I have cast him down into the Pit, as our Father has willed. His followers lie dead or dying. Do not mourn Lucifer and his ilk. They chose to rebel, to disobey. Those who have not held true to God’s will do not deserve our mercy— or our tears.”

Smiling, Michael spread his arms. “Rejoice instead, my brothers and sisters, for we who are righteous, have emerged victorious. Raise your voices in celebration of the downfall of the wicked. Be joyous that through our faith, we have prevailed.”

Shocked silence greeted this announcement.

Even the lowest of the cherubim knew the depth of the love Michael had for Lucifer. Nobody could ever doubt that Lucifer was Michael’s favorite brother, and to think Michael had cast him down without mercy, without even a trace of regret…

A chill passed through Castiel. There was nothing beautiful about Michael’s perfect face now. Instead, Castiel felt disgust rise in him at the sight of that chilling, pleased smile on the archangel’s lips. He could not stop the revulsion from showing in his expression, even as Michael’s gaze fell upon him.

For a moment, their eyes met, and Castiel froze in shock, thinking that any moment now Michael would surely smite him for his disobedience, utterly wipe him from existence. He waited, trembling with fear, for Michael to tear him to pieces.

However, Michael’s expression was as flat and emotionless as ever, and he gave no indication of having noticed Castiel’s small act of rebellion. He merely turned away. With one mighty flap of his wings, he was gone.

Till this day, Castiel still wondered why Michael had not taken any action against him. Castiel was but a lowly foot soldier, and Michael was their general. In terms of power, Michael was as far above Castiel as a human was above an ant. And it wasn’t as if it would be the first time Michael struck down one of his brothers without compunction.

But Castiel had never seen Michael again since that day.

In fact, the archangels had slowly begun to withdraw from the rest of the Host after Lucifer’s banishment from Heaven. First it had been Gabriel. Then Michael. Finally only the archangel Raphael remained, but even then he was cold and aloof, never deigning to interact with the lower ranks of the Host.

Castiel had gone centuries without catching a single glimpse of an archangel. So when Castiel was summoned before Raphael, to say that he was surprised would be putting it lightly.

 

\---

 

Raphael was waiting for him in the personal heaven of a human soul. It probably belonged to someone who had been high up in the Church. A Cardinal or Archbishop perhaps, maybe even a Pope. Castiel found himself inside an incredibly grand cathedral, surrounded by soaring arches of stone and gleaming wooden pews. A grand altar stood at the far end of the cathedral, beneath huge, beautifully crafted stained glass windows.

Raphael stood before the altar, gazing up at the windows. He was staring at a figure depicted upon the glass— Saint Michael the Archangel, flaming sword in hand and a great golden halo around his head.

For some reason, Raphael had assumed a human form, that of a tall, muscular man with dusky skin. He was clad in shining golden armor covered by robes of the purest white.

After a moment of hesitation, Castiel followed suit out of deference. He chose the form of the last vessel he had taken: a dark-haired, blue-eyed Caucasian male who was a distant ancestor of Castiel’s current true vessel today. He knelt, putting a hand across his chest in a gesture of obeisance that he had seen the humans make before.

Raphael turned around to face Castiel. He didn’t bother with pleasantries or with asking Castiel to rise.

Instead, he said, “Castiel, what do you know of our brother, Michael?”

Castiel was startled by the question, but he did not allow it to show. Was this some sort of test?

Slowly, he said, “Michael… is the Commander of the Heavenly Host. He is our General… destined to lead us all to victory at the time of Armageddon and bring about Paradise.”

Raphael nodded, but a brief flash of annoyance crossed his face, as though what Castiel had said irked him.

“What more do you know?”

“I am afraid I do not follow your meaning, brother…” Castiel said hesitantly. He wasn’t sure where Raphael was going with this line of questioning, and it made him nervous.

Raphael stared at him for a long time, face stony and gaze piercing, almost as though he was searching for something. Then, seemingly satisfied with whatever he had found, he nodded.

“Good. You are not lying. Can I trust you, Castiel?”

Castiel nodded, bewildered. Why would he lie about this? Where exactly was Raphael going with this? Castiel was a warrior. He did not care for mysteries or subterfuge. He preferred straight answers, the feel of his sword in his hand and the purity of battle. Not riddles and secrets.

Though it was perhaps rather insubordinate of him, Castiel could not help but say, “Brother, please speak plainly. I do not understand what is going on.”

“Michael is missing,” Raphael said, tone grave.

Castiel was stunned by this revelation, though he hid it well. Now he understood the need for secrecy. There would be mass panic amongst the lower ranks if it became known that their leader had gone missing.

This was shocking and extremely troubling news, but still, he did not understand why Raphael was confiding this to him. In the grand scheme of things, Castiel was a mere foot soldier. What good could come of imparting such a grave secret to him? There was nothing he could do—

“He has fallen.”

A moment of stunned silence passed before Castiel repeated numbly, “Michael has…fallen?”

Even as he spoke the words, Castiel couldn’t believe the truth of them.

To fall was to become an abomination in the eyes of the Lord. It was the greatest of all sins. The very thought was abhorrent- nearly unthinkable- to any angel. Pure anathema.

Michael, the greatest amongst them, the ever-dutiful son, falling? Michael who had obeyed their Father and struck his most beloved brother down without a shred of mercy? It was impossible. Too ludicrous to even contemplate.

“Yes,” said Raphael, “Michael deliberately cut out his own grace and fell to be reborn as a human.” Raphael looked at Castiel, face stern, and Castiel could hear the unspoken threat as he said, “This must remain a secret, you understand. If the knowledge that Michael has fallen were to spread…”

There would be chaos. The effect on morale alone would be devastating. And if any other angels decided to follow their leader’s example…

Shaken, Castiel asked, “What does any of this have to do with me?”

Raphael smiled, thin-lipped. “I’m getting to that.”

There came the slap of bare feet on stone as Raphael circled Castiel. His gaze was coldly assessing. Castiel looked up at him, worried. He did not think that he would like where this was heading.

“As you said, Michael is our general. He is destined to defeat Lucifer and bring about Paradise. So it is written, so shall it be.” A brief expression of distaste crossed Raphael’s face. “Michael may have committed the gravest of all sins, but we still need him. Someone must retrieve Michael’s grace and restore him.”

Raphael came to a stop right in front of Castiel. “That is where you come in, Castiel.”

Castiel, still on his knees, stared at Raphael mutely.

“We have tried to locate Michael’s grace, but there is some great power concealing it. We haven’t even been able to send angels back in time to the moment of Michael’s fall to earth. They have been repelled every time by some kind of… magical warding. Most likely Michael has an accomplice who helped him fall. An accomplice of considerable power.”

“You think it was another angel?”

Raphael shook his head, a brief frown marring his face. “Perhaps. Perhaps not. The protective wards in place have a curious feel to them—not entirely angelic, but not human magic either. But it doesn’t matter. We need not hunt down the accomplice. It is Michael whom you should concern yourself with.”

Castiel stared at Raphael. He was unable to stop the doubt from showing in his expression. “But how am I supposed to find Michael’s grace, if so many others have failed before me?”

Raphael chuckled, but there was no humor in it. “Don’t look so worried, Castiel. There is a simple solution. In spite of all the protective wards Michael’s accomplice put into place, they never did think to conceal the most important clue of all… Michael’s human self. Find the human shell and the location of Michael’s grace will surely follow.”

Raphael’s smile was coldly triumphant and pleased. “That is your mission, Castiel.” As he spoke, his voice rang with the weight of command, “Take a vessel and find the human named Dean Winchester. Keep your true purpose concealed. Let no others learn the nature of your mission. You are to restore Michael’s grace to him,” Raphael’s gaze bore into Castiel’s, fierce and absolute, and Castiel felt a chill pass through him, “By any means necessary.”

It was not Castiel’s place to question. Yet the questions came tumbling from his lips anyway, “Why me? Surely there are other angels who are far more familiar with earth? I am unskilled at subterfuge, and I have not walked the earth in centuries—”

Thankfully, Raphael did nothing more than narrow his eyes at Castiel’s audacity. “Your superiors have spoken highly of your faith and loyalty, Castiel. I trust they have not done so lightly. It is our Father’s will that you do this. So tell me, brother. _Will you do your duty_?”

Castiel met Raphael’s unwavering gaze and knew that he could do nothing but obey. To refuse would mean death, or something far worse. He nodded, face solemn, though he felt as though the trepidation would overwhelm him.

“But I am not unreasonable,” Raphael said, “While this mission must remain a closely guarded secret, you will not have to undertake it without any assistance. Speak to your garrison leader, Anna. She will brief you on the details.”

\---

It was only later, after Raphael had dismissed Castiel and Castiel had returned to his garrison, that Castiel learned exactly what Raphael had meant by ‘assistance’.

“Balthazar,” Castiel said, surprised, “Raphael chose _you_ to help me on my mission?”

“That is absolutely correct, Double O Seven,” said Balthazar in a lazy drawl. He shot Castiel a cheeky grin.

As usual, Castiel did not understand the reference. However, Balthazar wasn’t fazed in the least. He had a fondness for humanity and it didn’t seem to matter to him that none of his fellow angels ever understood or appreciated his references to human popular culture.

“Why so surprised? I’m the best expert Heaven has when it comes to all things human. You could say that I’ve come to know humanity rather _intimately_ over the past few millennia.” Balthazar winked at Castiel. He wiggled his wings in a manner that, if he were human, would have roughly translated into a suggestive eyebrow waggle.

Castiel did not bother to dignify that with a response.

Instead, he said, “You may be a capable warrior, Balthazar, but you aren’t exactly what I’d call a paragon of responsibility. You are haphazard, sloppy, and have no work ethic to speak of. Your attention span leaves much to be desired. It might, if I’m being charitable, be equated to that of a goldfish. In short, you are the absolute worst choice for a mission of any measure of importance.”

Balthazar shot him a look of mock hurt. “Oh, how you wound me with your callous words and cruel aspersions, Cassie. Careful there, one of these days I might just expire from the misery. Good luck finding yourself a new best friend.”

“Is that what you are? Best friend? I was thinking more along the lines of annoying, sarcastic little— what is it that the humans call it? Ah yes, ‘pain in my ass’.”

Balthazar grinned happily. “There’s the Castiel we all know and love.”

Castiel gave him a well-deserved glare.

Smirking, Balthazar continued, “You, me and Anna on a road trip to find our big boss where he’s slumming it with the humans? This is going to be fantastic, Castiel. Imagine it! A _secret mission_. We’re going to have such fun. I can’t wait!” Balthazar’s voice was cheery and disgustingly upbeat. However, knowing his fondness for sarcasm and irony, there was a high likelihood that he was being entirely facetious.

In hindsight, perhaps that should have been the point where Castiel realized the whole mission was going to be headed straight to, as the humans would put it, ‘Hell in a hand-basket’.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Dean Winchester was born to Mary and John Winchester on the twenty-fourth of January, 1979, exactly nine months after the supposed date of Michael’s fall. He had a brother, younger than him by four years, named Sam. The brothers spent their days travelling the country in a 1967 Chevrolet Impala, killing monsters and saving people.

It wasn’t exactly the sort of profession Castiel would have expected Michael to take up. A priest would have been his first guess. A politician or lawmaker of some sort would have been his next, maybe even a soldier. But a hunter?

Raphael seemed convinced that Dean was Michael, reborn as a human after falling. Castiel was not quite so sure. Other than the date of Dean’s birth, there was practically nothing to connect him with Michael. However, orders were orders. Not to mention it was the only real lead they had anyway.

It hadn’t taken much effort for Castiel to acquire the consent of his true vessel. James Novak was a religious man, and he was more than happy to allow Castiel the use of his body once suitable demonstrations of Castiel’s heavenly powers had been made.

It was strange, being in a vessel again. It felt like he was being squeezed into a tight space, and it was not very comfortable. However, Castiel knew that the cramped, constricting feeling would fade with time, as he once again got used to occupying a human body.

Perhaps this feeling of discomfort was why Castiel held himself so stiffly that Balthazar, upon seeing him, commented, “Hello, Castiel. What’s wrong with your face? If I didn’t know any better, I’d say your vessel was undergoing a bout of constipation.”

Balthazar was lounging casually on a park bench, tossing an apple up and down in the air with one hand. As Castiel glared at him, he caught the apple, smirked, and took a huge bite out of it.

Trust Balthazar to be the first amongst the three of them to acquire his vessel. Castiel noted with a tiny twinge of envy that he appeared entirely at ease in his borrowed human body. He had practically gone native already. Castiel privately thought that the scruffiness and general disheveled look of Balthazar’s vessel suited him perfectly.

There came the faint flutter of wing-beats and Anna appeared.

“Good. You’re both here,” she said, smiling. She pushed a few strands of bright red hair away from where they had fallen across her face. “Are you ready for the initial reconnaissance?”

Angels of higher rank were generally not known for being approachable, but Anna was an exception. Though she was his superior, Castiel considered her one of his closer siblings, like Balthazar was.

“I was born ready,” Balthazar said. He tossed his half-eaten apple towards a nearby trashcan. It would have missed and fallen to the ground, but at the last second the apple abruptly corrected its trajectory and flew into the trashcan.

Castiel’s brows furrowed. “Balthazar. You were never born. All angels are created directly by God.”

Balthazar rolled his eyes, a very human expression of exasperation. “It’s just a figure of speech, Castiel. I don’t understand why you have to take things so literally all the time. Why Raphael picked you for this mission is beyond me. _You?_ Talking to humans without blowing our cover? You wouldn’t recognize a joke if it gave you a lap dance wearing nothing but nipple tassels.”

Castiel ignored him. From long experience, he had learned that this was the best way to deal with Balthazar when he was being like this.

“I am ready, Anna,” he said.

Anna nodded. “Okay, follow my lead. And remember, we’re just there to observe. Not to interact. That was directed at you, Balthazar, in case it wasn’t already obvious. No flirting with the humans, do you understand?”

“Aye, aye, captain,” said Balthazar, before sinking into a low, sarcastic bow. “Your wish is my command.”

 

\---

 

Balthazar may have been prohibited from flirting with any humans, but Dean Winchester was doing enough of it for both of them combined.

As the angels watched, silent and invisible, from a corner of the bar, Dean leaned on the counter and tapped it to get the bartender’s attention, a roguish grin on his lips.

The bartender was a young woman with long blonde hair. She was probably, in Castiel’s inexpert opinion, fairly attractive by human standards. As Dean watched the bartender prepare his drink, his gaze drifted downwards and stayed fixed there for an inappropriately long time.

Castiel felt his vessel’s lips twitch into a disapproving frown.

Balthazar, however, was delighted.

He had been complaining repeatedly about being bored for the past few hours as they invisibly trailed the Winchesters. Admittedly, it had not been the most engaging of pursuits watching the brothers drive along a highway. Nor had it been particularly exciting watching them sit in a motel room, cleaning their weapons in silence. Forced to make his own amusement, Balthazar had decided to get up close and personal when the Winchesters were having their dinner at a diner near the motel.

Taking advantage of the fact that no humans could see or hear him, he had walked right up to where Dean was sitting, shoving a cheeseburger into his mouth, and leaned in to peer at his face. “So. This is Michael?”

“Balthazar, _please_ ,” said Castiel. “Stop standing so close to him. If he really is Michael, he might be able to sense you.”

Oblivious to this exchange and the fact that Balthazar’s face was less than two inches away from his, Dean Winchester continued to eat his cheeseburger.

“He’s quite a looker, isn’t he?” Balthazar remarked casually, before adding, “Though the other one isn’t half bad either.”

He gave Castiel a saucy leer. Castiel thought he heard Anna sigh from behind him.

Glaring, Castiel said, “Balthazar, do you ever think about anything else? Our Father did not create humanity for your personal sexual pleasure.”

It was only after Dean had finished his cheeseburger and announced that he was going to “check out the local delights” (to his brother’s exasperated groan of “Dean. _Really?_ ”) that Balthazar had perked up and stopped whining about how boring it was.

Now he was practically bouncing in glee. “I like him already. Michael or not.”

Back at the bar, the bartender smiled and beckoned Dean closer. Dean leaned in obligingly.

“Meet me at the back,” she told him in a sultry whisper. “I get off in five.”

“Oh, you’ll get off, alright,” Dean said with a wink. He downed the rest of his beer in one gulp. “See ya in five, sweetheart.”

Smirking jauntily, he sauntered away from the bar counter towards the back door.

Castiel had a sneaking suspicion that the next hour or so of Dean observation duty was not going to be terribly pleasant for him or Anna.

Balthazar, on the other hand, would probably love every single second of it.

 

\---

 

“This man cannot be Michael,” Castiel announced.

They were in a motel room, watching the Winchester brothers sleep.

After a week of watching Dean flirt his way through every bar in the town, drink what was probably his weight in alcohol, and sleep with more than half a dozen women, Castiel’s impression of Dean Winchester had dropped from neutrality verging on slight dislike to complete and utter disdain.

“He is arrogant, immature and impulsive. He lies and cheats without remorse. He drinks to excess and regularly engages in wanton pre-marital sex. He is about as far from Michael as anyone could possibly be. A crazed serial killer would be a far likelier candidate.”

“Stop being such a prig, Castiel,” Balthazar said.

Castiel glared at him. “I am not being a ‘prig’. I am merely stating the facts. Dean Winchester cannot possibly be Michael.”

“Raphael doesn’t seem to share your opinion.” Balthazar said, before shooting Castiel a sly smirk. “I think you just don’t like the idea that our Fearless Leader is a womanizing playboy. And that he has an actual sense of humor now, instead of that stick up his arse he always had. Personally, I think it’s an improvement.”

“Balthazar!” said Castiel, scandalized.

“What?” said Balthazar, “It’s not like Michael’s around to hear us anyway. Or if he is… he’s fast asleep.”

He jerked his head towards Dean, who was stretched out on his bed in an undignified sprawl, snoring softly into his pillow.

After a moment, he said, “This is so terribly dull. Call me when he starts doing something interesting. Or someone. Like those cute blonde twins last time.”

With one last wink and a faint flutter of wings, Balthazar disappeared from the room.

For a brief moment, Castiel wished he could join Balthazar. Would that he were able to abandon his post as easily as Balthazar was. However, Castiel was not Balthazar. He was a responsible, loyal soldier and he would do his duty, no matter how tedious or pointless it seemed.

Wearily, Castiel resigned himself to another long night of watching the Winchesters sleep.

It was then that Anna spoke. “You’re wrong,” she said softly.

Castiel looked up, startled. Anna had been silent the whole evening, standing by the window and staring impassively out at the night sky.

Now she turned back to look at him, a gentle and strangely pensive expression on her face. “Dean Winchester is so much more than just an immature, womanizing playboy. It may not be apparent from first appearances, but he shares many of Michael’s best qualities.”

She walked over to the bed where Dean was and gazed down at the sleeping human, expression contemplative.

“Like Michael, he is a defender of the weak. He is willing to sacrifice all of himself to protect those who cannot protect themselves. He loves his family fiercely, and he would do anything for them. He does what he thinks is right, no matter the consequences or cost.” She looked at Castiel, meeting his eyes; her gaze was startlingly intense. “He is truly a righteous man, in spirit and in deed.”

Castiel shook his head. “He is a sinner. Look at the way he drinks to drown his sorrows. He has made many mistakes. And he doesn’t even believe in our Father, Anna. He has no _faith_.”

“Haven’t we all done things we regret, Castiel?” Anna said, and there was something soft and wistfully sad in her tone. “And not believing in God doesn’t make him a bad person. If he truly is Michael and he chose to fall… does it not make sense that he would have lost his faith?”

Castiel was troubled by this, though he did not let it show. “I am still not convinced,” he declared staunchly.

Anna sighed and ran her fingers through her long red hair, sweeping it away from her face, a curiously human gesture. “What will it take to convince you then?” she said, but before Castiel could answer, she continued, “Perhaps…” her eyes darted down to Dean’s face, “Perhaps you should enter his dreams.”

Castiel felt his vessel’s lips curl in distaste, brows furrowing into a frown, an almost automatic reaction. “Why would I do that? I think I’ve had quite enough of Dean’s dreams after my last few experiences.”

Castiel had thought to check on Dean’s dreams after it occurred to him that perhaps some remnant of Michael would show itself in his subconscious. Even when an angel cut out their grace and fell, they could not completely remove all traces of what they once were. Some small part of their grace would remain with them forever… and in sleep, the boundaries between human and angel would begin to blur.

Castiel had been hoping to catch a glimpse of something that would indicate that Dean was more than what he first seemed- a boorish, cocky human whose only vaguely angelic quality was his ability to consume seemingly infinite quantities of alcohol and remain alive. Castiel had been hoping for some kind of sign. A flash of grace perhaps, maybe even one of Michael’s memories.

Yet when Castiel had reached out and skimmed the surface of Dean’s sleeping mind, what he found involved a lot less clothing and a lot more moaning than he was comfortable with. After the third time he was forced to watch Dean being given a lap dance by a stripper in a devil costume of bright red leather, Castiel had decided to stop.

He did not expect this time to be any different.

“Your mission is to find Michael’s grace and restore him, isn’t it?” said Anna, “Your best chance for discovering the location of Michael’s grace is dream-walking into Dean’s subconscious mind. If you handle it correctly, you’ll be able to discover information hidden from his conscious mind without him being any the wiser.”

“That’s assuming Dean is truly Michael,” Castiel said, “Which I highly doubt is the case.”

“Even if Dean isn’t Michael, it wouldn’t hurt to try, would it?”

Castiel remained silent, staring at Dean with a frown.

“This could be the proof you’re searching for.”

When Castiel still did not respond, Anna looked at him sternly. “Castiel, Raphael will be expecting you to try this, at the very least.”

Castiel was forced to concede the point. “Very well, I will do it,” he said, and Anna’s lips lifted into a smile.

Spreading his wings, he prepared to enter Dean Winchester’s dream. What new depths of depravity he would find this time, Castiel shuddered to even think.

 

\---

 

But what Castiel found waiting for him in Dean’s dream was not the dimly lit and smoky interior of yet another strip club or hourly-rate motel. Instead, he stood on the sidewalk of a suburban street, in front of a white house.

Dean, Castiel knew, was somewhere inside.

Walking forward past the driveway, Castiel pushed at the front door. It swung open easily at his touch.

Stepping in, he saw that the house was empty. He paused before one of the photo frames hanging on the hallway wall. In the photo, John and Mary Winchester were hugging, smiling brilliantly for the camera.

Castiel abruptly realized where he was— Dean’s childhood home in Lawrence, Kansas, before it burned down in the same fire that killed his mother.

He found Dean in a bedroom upstairs. Stopping just outside the door, Castiel stayed in the shadows, a silent observer.

There was a small bed in the room. It had dark blue sheets covered all over in numerous little prints of a black symbol that was enclosed within a bright yellow oval. The symbol looked a little like a stylized bat. It was strangely charming, something a child would like.

This must be Dean’s room, Castiel realized.

Dean was staring at something on the nightstand beside the bed. With some surprise, Castiel realized it was a small ceramic figure of an angel, as humans liked to depict his kind, rosy cheeked and white winged.

As Castiel watched, Dean reached out took the figure in his hand, still staring at it intently.

“Angels are watching over us,” he said quietly, “That’s what you always told me when you tucked me in to sleep every night.” His grip on the little ceramic angel tightened. “Well, where are the angels now?”

He drew a ragged breath. “They weren’t around when Dad died. And they sure as hell weren’t around when that demon killed you.”

It was then that Castiel realized who Dean was talking to. His deceased mother, Mary Winchester. An idea struck him.

Dean might not reveal much if Castiel spoke to him as he was now, but he would be far more receptive to someone he loved and trusted. If Castiel could fool Dean’s subconscious mind…

Within a dream, all it took for Castiel to change his form was a mere thought. When Castiel stepped into the room, he was wearing the shape of Mary Winchester.

“Dean,” he said in Mary’s sweet, lilting voice, and Dean’s gaze swung around to meet his.

“Mom?” Dean’s face went pale, and even from just that single word, Castiel could hear how his voice was trembling with emotion. “Is it- is it really you?”

“Yes, honey,” Castiel said, and he smiled. “It’s me. I’m here now. Everything’s going to be alright.”

Dean stared at him for a very long while, and Castiel could see that his green eyes were glinting with unshed tears.

“Mom, I’m so sorry,” he said, voice ragged. He took a step towards Castiel, one hand outstretched. “I…”

Then suddenly, all traces of wistful sadness disappeared from his demeanor and his face twisted in incredible fury.

“You’re not my mother,” he snarled.

Castiel stared in blank shock. His illusion was perfect. Dean should have been completely fooled. No human should have been able to see through it—

Unless…

Dean took another step forward, this time threateningly. His voice was a low growl, “What are you?”

His fingers clenched so tightly around the little ceramic angel that Castiel feared it would break.

Another step.

Castiel couldn’t help but take a corresponding step backwards.

“I’m your mother, sweetheart. Don’t you recognize me?” he said desperately, but he knew he was grasping at straws.

“How dare you!” Dean’s green eyes were wild with emotion. Castiel could almost swear they were glowing. “How dare you use her like this? How dare you defile her memory?”

The ground was starting to tremble. Picture frames were shaking loose from the wall, and things were toppling off shelves. Something smashed into the ground with a great crash. Above Castiel, the ceiling light fixture exploded with great force, sending sparks and pieces of glass showering down everywhere.

There was an almost unbearable pressure in the air, as if something immensely powerful was building up to a roaring crescendo.

Raising his arm, Dean hurled the ceramic angel at Castiel. It struck Castiel right in the chest and it was like being hit by all the force of a tornado.

Castiel’s mouth flew open in shock. There was a blinding burst of pure white light and an incredible surge of power before he was flung violently out of Dean’s dream.

His last glimpse was of Dean, hand still outstretched, mouth open in a silent snarl and eyes glowing a bright, inhuman blue—

Castiel landed clumsily, wings askew. Panting heavily, he fell to the ground.

The motel carpet felt scratchy and uncomfortable against his vessel’s face, but Castiel could do nothing but lie there and groan softly. He felt like he had just flown straight into a hurricane. He ached everywhere.

“Castiel!” he heard Anna say.

Groaning, Castiel turned himself over. He opened his eyes to find Anna peering down at him, a worried expression on her face.

“Are you alright? What happened?”

“I believe you now,” Castiel gasped out weakly. “Dean Winchester… is definitely Michael.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

 

“What the hell did you do to him, Castiel?” Balthazar hissed.

Seated on his bed, Dean Winchester was sharpening a dagger. His hands were clenched around the hilt so tightly that his knuckles had gone white. He alternated between glaring at his dagger and looking around uneasily.

Every now and then, he would raise his head, almost like a bloodhound scenting the air, and his angry gaze would rove about the room before settling directly at the spot in the motel room where all three angels were clustered in a nervous, invisible huddle.

After a while of glaring at the angels’ hiding spot, Dean would grumble something under his breath and return to grinding his dagger on the whetstone.

Then the process would repeat.

“Dean, what’s going on with you today?” Sam said as he came out from the bathroom where he had been brushing his teeth. “You’ve been jumpy all morning. Did you get off the wrong side of the bed or something?”

He glanced over at the spot where Dean had been glaring at the invisible angels. “What did that painting do to offend you? I admit, it’s pretty damn ugly, but why do you have to keep glaring at it like it ran over your favorite puppy? And then totaled the Impala?”

Dean viciously brought the dagger down on his whetstone again.

“Something’s not right,” he gritted out, “It’s like- it’s like something’s watching us.”

He glanced around suspiciously at the empty air, eyes narrowed. Castiel shuffled nervously as his gaze swept over them again.

“You know what I mean? Like someone just walked over my grave. Some kinda seriously bad juju. It makes my skin crawl.”

Sam gave him a strange look. “It’s not like you to be so superstitious, Dean.”

“I’m telling you, there’s something. Lurking about,” Dean insisted. “I can feel it.”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “So you’ve got psychic powers too, now?”

“No, don’t be stupid. It’s like- a gut feeling. Hunter’s instincts.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Or maybe you just have indigestion. C’mon, Dean. Since when did you start having bad feelings about things?”

Dean mumbled something incoherent and continued sharpening his dagger angrily.

“I didn’t do anything to him,” Castiel told Balthazar.

“Anna told me about your little trip into his head when I was gone,” Balthazar said accusingly. “You must have tripped a switch or something. Now he’s got some kind of- _angel radar_! He wasn’t like this before.”

“I… may have triggered something in him when I was dream-walking. I took the form of his mother. I thought I’d try to get him to trust me so that I could ask him about Michael’s grace.”

“Oh _brilliant plan_ , genius,” said Balthazar, “You thought you’d pretend to be his dead mom and interrogate him… and that wouldn’t piss him off? No wonder our peers call you a master strategist, Castiel. You truly live up to your reputation. Bravo.”

“It would have worked if he had been human,” Castiel muttered.

“And the only reason we’re here at all is because he isn’t!”

“Brothers, please,” Anna said, “Quarrelling amongst ourselves will only make matters worse. Balthazar, stop being so hard on Castiel. He didn’t intend for this to happen.”

Castiel sighed. “It’s alright, Anna. Balthazar is correct. I made a mistake. I should never have underestimated Dean Winchester. But I have a plan for solving this.”

“Oh, this ought to be good,” Balthazar muttered dryly as Anna glared at him.

\---

Castiel’s plan was simple.

They needed to find clues to lead them to the location of Michael’s grace, and the only way they could obtain that information was from Dean’s subconscious. Ergo, someone needed to dream-walk into Dean’s mind again.

That someone would have to be trusted implicitly by Dean, so that his subconscious would willingly part with the information, instead of, as Balthazar put it (rather colorfully), “throwing them out on their stupid, lying arse.”

Castiel had determined that Balthazar would be the ideal candidate for this task, given his familiarity with human culture and his ability to endear himself to others with ease despite being an unbearable nuisance 90% of the time.

Balthazar would pretend to be human, become Dean Winchester’s friend, and dream-walk into his mind to obtain the location of Michael’s grace. Once they had the grace, they’d restore Michael and return to Heaven, triumphant.

The plan was elegant in its simplicity. Castiel was not usually a very prideful angel, but in this case, he could not help preen a little on the inside at the thought of his masterful strategy.

However, Anna had shot down this plan almost immediately.

“Raphael was very clear in his orders that nobody was to make any sort of contact with Michael other than you, Castiel. He was very insistent that you alone should be the one to interact directly with Michael’s human self.”

“I don’t understand,” Castiel said, unable to stop frustration from leaking into his tone, “If he allowed you and Balthazar to aid me, surely…”

“Those were Raphael’s orders, Castiel,” said Anna, and her voice held a note of warning, “It would not be wise to question them.”

Anna was right, of course. The reminder chastened Castiel. Had he become so influenced by his time spent amongst humanity that he would allow himself to stray from his duty by questioning orders? Raphael had entrusted Castiel with this mission. No matter how daunting the prospect of pretending to be human seemed, Castiel had to do his best to see it through.

“ _I_ will do it then,” Castiel said with confidence that he did not truly possess. “I will pretend to be a hunter and gain the trust of Dean Winchester so that we may locate Michael’s grace and restore him. I might not be as familiar with humanity as Balthazar is, but I am still a master tactician. I am certain that deceiving a few humans will be well within my capabilities.”

As the humans would say, famous last words.

 

\---

 

“This is like the plot of every trashy romance novel masquerading as spy fiction ever,” Balthazar said, “Except in this case, it’s shaping up to be more of a _farce_.”

He waved a hand at Castiel, grimacing. “Have you ever seen such a bad honeypot trap before? You could at least change into something that reveals a bit more skin.”                                  

“What is wrong with my vessel’s clothing?” Castiel said, confused. “And what is a honeypot trap? Does it have something to do with bees?”

He looked down at what his vessel was dressed in. The suit and tie plus trench coat ensemble that Jimmy Novak had been wearing when Castiel first possessed him seemed perfectly serviceable. This was how most humans dressed, wasn’t it? What was wrong with it? Castiel felt that he was already dressed in a very sensible and respectable manner that was sure to inspire the most warm and comradely feelings of trust and friendship in Dean Winchester.

Balthazar heaved a long, aggravated sigh. “This is impossible, Anna. We should just kill ourselves now and end our misery before Raphael tortures us for our _abysmal failure_.”

“Stop being such a drama queen, Balthazar,” Anna said. “Castiel doesn’t have to seduce Dean in order to get Dean to trust him. A strong friendship based on mutual understanding and devotion is far more profound a bond than a relationship based upon mere sexual relations.”

“Well, good luck getting Dean to trust you enough to let you into his dreams with your ‘ _more profound bond’_ , Castiel,” Balthazar said snidely. He sneered. “I need a drink.”

With that, he was gone in a flutter of wings.

Castiel stared at the empty space where Balthazar had once been, dumbfounded. “Balthazar wishes for me to… have sex with Dean Winchester?”

There came the sound of palm meeting forehead.

“I think I need a drink too,” Anna muttered under her breath.

 

\---

 

The Winchesters were staying put in this town because they were working a case. Currently they were still investigating, having no clue that the monsters they were hunting were vampires. Castiel, on the other hand, had identified the creatures almost immediately from their distinctive scent.                                                                          

The plan was for Castiel to introduce himself to the Winchesters as a fellow hunter and offer his services on this hunt. It was fairly foolproof as far as plans went. After all, hunters would hardly refuse aid freely offered, would they?

With this in mind, Castiel chose to make his move when the brothers were having lunch at a pub near their motel.

Anna and Balthazar had elected to stay away so that their presence would not trigger Dean’s new ‘angel radar’. (Though Balthazar had insisted it was because, as he put it, “I don’t think I could bear to witness the utter and complete train wreck of a disaster this is undoubtedly going to be”.)

Which left Castiel to do this all by his lonesome. That thought, Castiel had to confess, was somewhat daunting. He spent longer than he cared to admit dithering outside the pub’s entrance, trying to steel himself for the task ahead.

_Make eye contact_ , he reminded himself. _Eye contact signifies closeness between humans. They do it to show that they value the company of their fellow humans. Yes, continuous eye contact is very important. I must show Dean just how much I value his company so that we can commence a friendship._

Technically, Castiel did not even need to breathe, but nevertheless, some deep-seated human instinct from his vessel made him take a deep, fortifying breath before he pushed open the doors to enter the pub.

Dean was sitting at the bar. He was nursing a bottle of beer and staring glumly at the bar counter. Sam was nowhere to be seen.

It seemed that in the time Castiel had spent psyching himself up to enter the pub, the brothers had already finished their meal. By the looks of it, Sam had left first. This made things easier, actually. Castiel would only have to deal with Dean.

Trying not to let his anxiety show, Castiel walked slowly to the counter and stiffly lowered himself onto the bar stool next to Dean.

Dean looked up at the sound of Castiel sitting down. He glanced at Castiel and his gaze flicked to the row of empty bar stools behind Castiel. Then he looked back at Castiel, an eyebrow raised, before returning his gaze to his beer.

Castiel sat there awkwardly, staring at Dean’s side profile. His carefully rehearsed speech didn’t seem to want to come out of his mouth.

“What will you be having?”

Castiel almost jerked at the sudden question. The bartender was looking at him expectantly.

Desperately, Castiel looked around for inspiration before his gaze alighted upon Dean’s drink. “A… beer?” he said, pointing at Dean’s bottle, before belatedly adding, “Please.”

The bartender looked at him a little strangely but fetched Castiel his drink nevertheless. Castiel barely glanced at the beer; he was too busy looking at Dean.

Dean’s eyes were even more intensely green up close. Castiel realized that they were more of a candy apple green, rather than the deep forest green he had first thought they were, especially when the light hit Dean’s eyes at just the right angle. Their shade of vivid green was very striking.

Also, Dean had strangely perfect skin for someone who had spent practically his whole life on the road hunting monsters. His teeth were extremely white. Castiel was beginning to see why all the women Dean had flirted with had so easily fallen into bed with him. His looks, for a human, were definitely above average. As Balthazar had put it, he really was ‘quite a looker’.

Castiel felt vaguely sacrilegious for thinking this. This was after all Michael the archangel he was thinking about— albeit a fallen, human version of Michael.

Whereas Michael had been inhumanly perfect, coldly beautiful in the same way that a perfectly sculpted marble statue was beautiful, Dean was far from flawless. One of his teeth was slightly chipped, a small, almost imperceptible imperfection. His skin was dotted with freckles, tiny constellations of brown on his cheeks and the bridge of his nose, which while not very obvious at a far distance, were far more noticeable now that Castiel was so close to him.

However, far from detracting from his looks, these small imperfections somehow added to his charm. It was strange, and Castiel wondered about how it could be so.

It was terribly perplexing…

“Hey dude. Can I help you with something?”

“Dude!”

Castiel startled out of his reverie. Dean was frowning at him.

“Why don’t you take a picture? It’ll last longer.”

“I’m sorry?” Castiel said, flustered. He hadn’t the faintest idea what Dean meant.

He floundered for a moment before remembering one of Balthazar’s pointers for human conversation. “It’s a nice day out today, isn’t it?” he said desperately.

Dean gave him a funny look. “Sure.” He took a swig of his beer before he returned to staring darkly at the countertop.

“You come around here often?” Castiel said, drawing upon the next ‘small talk’ stock phrase Balthazar had gifted him with.

Dean’s eyebrows shot up. He grimaced before giving Castiel an extremely forced smile. “Look, hate to break it to you, pal. But I don’t play for your team.”

“My team?” Castiel said, but Dean threw down a few bills on the counter and then he was striding away.

“Wait! I’m a hunter—” Castiel called out, far too late. Dean was already out of the pub, the doors swinging closed behind him.

In hindsight, perhaps Castiel should have opened with that instead.

 

\---

 

Castiel was not deterred by this setback, though it was somewhat disheartening. He would just have to find another way to introduce himself to the Winchesters and make their acquaintance.

This time he would not make the mistake of attempting to initiate conversation. Castiel had never been the best at speaking to others, even when his conversational partners were his fellow angels. It was in battle that he truly excelled. And so Castiel decided to let his actions speak for themselves.

He found the Winchesters inside an abandoned farmhouse hidden at the end of a long, winding road (barely more than a glorified dirt track) that led into the middle of nowhere. The brothers had tracked the vampires there. Armed with machetes and dead man’s blood, they were currently in the process of sending the creatures on to Purgatory.

Without further ado, Castiel joined in. He easily lopped off a vampire’s head with his own machete, having ‘borrowed’ one from a nearby store that sold hunting supplies and equipment.

He ducked under the next vampire’s blow, sweeping its legs out from underneath it. He hacked its head off while it was down. Blood splattered all over his vessel’s face and clothing.

This method of killing was really quite messy. Castiel thought wistfully of how much easier and cleaner it would have been to smite all the vampires. However, it would have been harder to explain to the Winchesters why all the monsters had suddenly and mysteriously dropped dead, eyes burnt out.

Even as his mind wandered, Castiel brought down a few more vampires, easily dodging their slow, clumsy attacks, his machete flashing as he hacked and slashed at the creatures. He had just finished beheading the last survivor when he heard a voice.

“Who the hell are you?”

Castiel looked up to see Sam Winchester frowning at him. Blood also covered his face and clothing. He was holding his machete out threateningly and looking at Castiel with an assessing gaze, as if trying to decide whether he should be making Castiel his next target now that all the vampires were dead.

“My name is Castiel. I am a hunter,” Castiel said simply, wiping his machete off on the dead vampire’s clothing before straightening up.

“Wait a minute. That’s the guy from the pub.” Dean Winchester came up from behind Sam. He was likewise covered all over in vampire blood. He glared angrily at Castiel, eyes narrowed. “Did you follow me here?”

“Guy from the pub?” Sam said.

“Y’know, the one who kept staring at me creepily? I told you about it over the phone.”

At Sam’s continued look of incomprehension, Dean sighed in frustration. “My gay thing?”

Realization dawned on Sam’s face. “Oh, right _._ _That_.” He started to smirk at Dean.

“Shut up, bitch.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t need to say anything! Wipe that stupid look off your face!”

“What stupid look?”

“That look! That stupid smug look!”

Castiel eyed them warily. This conversation appeared to be devolving into a childish squabble, the likes of which were more commonly observed amongst young children and adolescents. Were humans always so easily distracted? Castiel decided to steer the conversation back on track before the brothers could start screaming, throwing things or pulling each other’s hair.

“I was not following you, Dean,” he said, “I merely tracked the vampires to their nest here. As apparently, you have too. It appears that we have all been working the same case.”

“How the hell do you know my name, you son of a bitch?” Dean’s voice was a low growl. His fingers tightened around his machete.

“You are Dean Winchester,” Castiel stated calmly, before pointing at Sam, “And that is Sam Winchester, your brother. Your father is the late John Winchester, a prominent figure in the hunting community. Is it so strange that I would have heard of you? You are all quite well-known.”

“Don’t you dare talk about my dad, you fucking creep,” Dean snapped.

“Woah! Dean!” said Sam. He was looking at his brother, appalled.

“You’re lying,” Dean snarled, “You were at the pub staring at me, and now you just happen to show up in time to help us? And you expect us to believe that it was all just a coincidence? What are you playing at, huh? Christo.”

When Castiel just stood there, expressionless, Dean looked startled. Then he fished a flask out from his jacket and hurled its contents at Castiel.

Castiel felt the holy water trickle down his face. “I am not a demon.”

“Oh yeah?” said Dean, who was obviously not to be deterred, “Maybe you’re a shapeshifter or something-”

Castiel simply took out a silver dagger from his coat and dragged its edge across his left palm. Beads of bright red welled up from the cut as he deliberately suppressed his grace so that the wound would not heal itself immediately.

“I’m not a shapeshifter either,” he told Dean as he held up his bleeding hand and the silver dagger for the hunters to inspect.

Sam took the dagger from Castiel’s hand to examine it. “Pure silver,” he confirmed, before handing the weapon back.

Dean continued to glare at Castiel, frustration oozing from his every pore. “Okay, so maybe you’re not a shifter or a werewolf, but you’re _something_ alright—”

“Dean! That’s enough!” Sam looked apologetically at Castiel. “Look, I’m sorry about my brother. It’s been a long day, we’re all tired. Dean isn’t usually such an asshole, I swear—”

Dean shot Sam a venomous glare. “Hey, stop apologizing for me like I’m some- some kind of _puppy_ that peed all over his couch! There’s nothing to apologize for! He could be the friggin’ yellow-eyed demon for all we know!”

Sam glared back at him. “Dean, will you shut up and stop embarrassing yourself?”

“You… shut up and stop embarrassing yourself! There’s something wrong with this guy, okay?”

“Excuse us, please,” Sam said to Castiel, a very forced smile on his face. “My brother and I need to take a sidebar.”

Sam dragged Dean over to a copse of trees by the side of the farmhouse, whereupon they proceeded to whisper furiously at each other. Unfortunately for them, Castiel’s angelic hearing could pick up every single word.

“Is this one of your _feelings_ again, Dean?”

“I’m telling you, he’s not human. We can’t trust him!”

“Dean, he passed all the tests. Is this really about your ‘hunter instincts’? Or is this about the, uh, gay thing?”

“What the hell, Sam! This has nothing to do with—”

“Given the way you’ve been behaving, laying onto that poor man when he’s done absolutely nothing to deserve it, I’d say it has _everything_ to do with it. Frankly, I’m disappointed in you, Dean. You know, loving people of the same gender doesn’t actually make someone a monster, no matter what the religious nutjobs like to say. Just because the guy tried to hit on you doesn’t mean you can treat him like shit.”

Castiel frowned, utterly bewildered. The brothers’ conversation was not proving very easy to follow. When exactly had he tried to hit Dean? He had done absolutely nothing of the sort.

“It’s not like that okay, Sam? Stop treating me like I’m some kind of evil homophobe just cuz I don’t trust the guy. I’m all for freedom of love! People can bang whoever they wanna bang, I don’t give a shit. I just don’t like that guy. There’s something off about him. It has nothing to do with whether he gets his rocks off on sausages or on muffins!”

Castiel was by now thoroughly confused. He did not see how rocks and common human breakfast foods had anything to do with their current situation. Also, what was a ‘homophobe’? Was it some kind of monster?

If only Balthazar were here…

“ _Please_ just stop talking,” Sam said, grimacing as he raised a hand, palm facing outwards towards his brother, “With every word that comes out of your mouth, my shame at being related to you increases tenfold.”

“Will you stop being such a bleeding heart liberal hippie for one second and _think_ , Sam? There’s something real fishy about that dude. _C’mon_. He looks more like a friggin’ tax accountant than a hunter. And then there’s the- the _creepy_ _laser stare_. Don’t tell me you don’t think he’s weird?”

“Okay, so maybe he’s a little weird,” Sam admitted, “And maybe he stares at people for longer than is socially acceptable. But last I checked, social awkwardness isn’t actually a _crime_.”

“I’m telling you, Sam, that guy’s no more a hunter than I’m the friggin’ Queen of England!”

“You better start wearing a dress then,” Sam shot back, before adding, “You should apologize to him.”

“Like hell am I gonna apologize to him.” Dean said. He glared at Sam, his lips set in a thin line of stubborn defiance. “I’d rather stab myself in the face with this machete.”

Sam let out a frustrated huff. “Urgh. Whatever. Be a jerk. I see there’s no talking any sense into you.”

Sam walked back over, followed by Dean, who was still glaring at Castiel angrily.

“Sorry about that,” Sam said, “Please ignore my brother. He’s just being a douchebag.” He gave Castiel a warm smile. “Good job with the vamps back there.”

“Thank you for your praise,” Castiel said. “I am very flattered.”

In the background, Dean was muttering angrily to himself, “Who talks like that? Sounds like a freaking _robot_ trying to pass as human.”

“You’re welcome… Castiel, was it?” Sam said. He smiled when Castiel nodded at him in confirmation. “We appreciate the help.”

Castiel made a deliberate effort to smile back at him, as warmly as he could. “Could I ask a favor of you?”

“No,” Dean snapped at the same time that Sam said, “Yeah, sure.”

This was it. This was Castiel’s chance to start insinuating himself into the Winchesters’ company. Castiel mentally prepared himself for the deception.

“Could I get a lift back to town in your car? My own vehicle has malfunctioned and I have no alternative means of transportation.”

“Hell no,” was Dean’s immediate growled response. “Over my dead body. No way am I letting Terminator here into my baby.”

“Your car broke down?” Sam said, “Where is it? We could call a tow for you. Or Dean can help you look at it- he’s a pretty good mechanic—”

“Oh, the car is- a few miles from here,” Castiel said hurriedly. The hypothetical car that Dean could help to look at did not actually exist and Castiel had never been very good at materializing objects from pure grace. “It is alright, I really only just need a lift—”

Sam’s eyebrows had gone up. “How did you get here then? I mean, nobody comes around to this place. It’s nearly impossible to hitch a ride. Don’t tell me you actually walked all the way here?”

Oh dear. Sam was getting suspicious. It was okay though. This was still salvageable.

“Yes,” he told Sam, face straight, “I came by foot. It was a very difficult journey, but the hunt was far more important than any physical hardship on my part.”

“Wow,” said Sam, “That’s uh… impressive dedication.”

Dean was smirking, his arms crossed. For the first time since Castiel had appeared to the Winchesters, he was looking pleased. “You walked for miles in the heat. In that trench coat.”

“Yes,” said Castiel. Dean’s smirk was rather troubling.

Sam and Dean exchanged a look.

“Look,” said Sam. His smile was strained. “You seem like a really great guy and all. But the thing is, we barely know you…”

“What Sam means is- screw you, sucker,” Dean said with great delight. “You’re dodgy as hell. We don’t trust you. So maybe you passed all the tests, but that doesn’t mean you’re clean. The only reason you aren’t sporting a knife to the chest right now is ‘cause there’s a slim, real slim chance that you are actually who you say you are. Count yourself lucky we’re giving you the benefit of the doubt.”

After a beat, he added, “Oh and frankly, I’d rather be eaten by a pack of wild dogs than let you into my car.”

With that parting shot, he slid into the Impala. Smiling forcedly at Castiel, Sam followed suit. “Sorry,” he mouthed.

And so Castiel was left in the dust, staring at the sleek black silhouette of the Impala as it disappeared without him on it. So much for his grand plan to befriend the Winchesters and slowly win their trust.

“Maybe,” he said to the air, “I’m not as good at pretending to be human as I thought I was?”

If Castiel hadn’t known any better, he could almost have sworn that the damn crow was laughing at him.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

 

Balthazar had laughed heartily once Castiel finished recounting everything that had transpired during his attempt to befriend the Winchesters. Balthazar would probably have continued laughing for the next hour or so if Castiel hadn’t snapped at him to leave.

“Go ahead and sulk, Cassie,” Balthazar had said, all too smugly, “It’s alright. We all know you need a little time to yourself to get over that crushing blow to your ego. ‘Master tactician’ _indeed_.”

Chuckling, he spread his wings and took off.

Anna had followed suit, but not before giving Castiel a sympathetic smile and a soft pat on his vessel’s shoulder. Castiel had given her a querying look at the strangely human gesture, but Anna had just smiled and said, “Don’t be disheartened, Castiel. I have faith that you can do this. You will get through to Dean Winchester. I know it.”

Castiel wished that he could be as optimistic as Anna. First impressions were important to humans, and Castiel had obviously bungled his. It had been the height of folly to think that he would actually be able to pull off pretending to be human for long enough a period of time to befriend Dean Winchester and gain his trust.

Now, invisible once more, he watched glumly as the Winchesters went about packing their belongings in their motel room. They were obviously preparing to leave town. Once they did, Castiel did not know when he would have his next opportunity to ‘bump’ into them again. Dean was already suspicious enough. Two chance meetings could be chalked up to coincidence, but three…?

Once again, Castiel wondered exactly why Raphael had chosen him for this mission. Why was it that Raphael had expressly specified that Castiel and _only_ Castiel should be the one to approach Dean Winchester? Castiel was about the worst possible candidate to pretend to human—even he had to admit that to himself. What _possible_ logical reason could there be behind Raphael’s orders?

“I wonder how that guy is doing,” Sam Winchester said suddenly. “That Castiel guy.” He looked down at his hands. “Maybe we were a bit too harsh on him. He was pretty dodgy, yeah… but plenty of hunters are too. Why else would we be spending our lives hunting monsters? Being weird is kind of in the job description.”

“Are you calling us weird, Sammy?”

“Do you even need to ask?” said Sam. After a beat, he added, somewhat guiltily, “I mean, we did leave him stranded in the middle of bumfuck nowhere. And after he helped us kill a bunch of fangs too. If he really was telling the truth… that’s gotta suck, man.”

Dean looked up from where he had been wrinkling his nose at a pair of unwashed socks before hastily stuffing them right at the bottom of his duffel.

“Who gives a shit? That guy was bad business, Sam. Don’t you start feeling guilty now. I swear, if I wasn’t here to stop you, you’d be taking in every sorry-looking stray with the slightest limp. You’re such a bleeding heart.”

“No, I’m not,” Sam said. “I just have common human decency.” He shot Dean an accusing glare. “Unlike some people.”

“Hah,” said Dean, “Cry all you want, Samantha. Next time we see this ‘ _Castiel_ ’, you can go right up to him and give him a nice lovely warm hug and tell him how he’s just too precious for this world. I’m sure it’ll all be very touching. Look. There’s a little tear in my eye already.”

Sam snorted angrily, throwing Dean a truly withering glare, before returning to folding his clothes. His clothing, Castiel could not help but notice, were placed in neatly stacked piles, unlike Dean’s, which were strewn all over his bed in a giant mess.

“What kind of name is Castiel, anyway?” Dean said, “No sane parent’s gonna name their kid that.”

“I checked it up actually, before we had dinner,” Sam said, “I couldn’t find any records for a Castiel, which was kinda strange I guess, especially with such a unique name. But I did find something very interesting- Castiel’s the name of an angel. The Angel of Thursday, actually.”

“Huh,” Dean said, “So demons are naming themselves after angels now? What’s the world coming to?”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Dean, how many times do I have to tell you- he passed all the tests—”

“Yeah, and we know the tests aren’t always foolproof.” Dean grunted angrily, and he threw the last few articles of clothing into his duffel with far more force than was strictly necessary. “Don’t tell me you’ve already forgotten what happened with Dad and the Colt.”

Sam’s face froze, before a look of sadness crept onto his features. “Dean…” he said softly, “Look, if you wanna talk about Dad…”

But Castiel never did hear whatever it was that the Winchesters wanted to talk about regarding their recently deceased father. It was embarrassing how intent he had been on the Winchesters’ conversation, to the point that he didn’t even notice the stench of blood and dead flesh until two vampires had burst into the motel room.

Sam tried to make a grab for his machete, but he was thrown clear across the room before he could lay hands on the weapon. He crashed into the wall before slumping to the ground, groaning. The female vampire who had thrown him was stalking towards him, a predatory gleam in her eyes.

The other vampire was holding Dean by the throat. “Thought you could just stroll in and kill our family and get away with it, did you?” he hissed, tightening his grip and making Dean choke. He looked towards where the female vampire had Sam’s neck in her hands and smiled. “You hunters, you’re all the same. Arrogant fools. You didn’t even bother to hide your tracks.”

He leaned in, fangs flashing. That was when Castiel barreled in through the open door, tackling the vampire to the ground before he could sink his fangs into Dean’s neck. With one swift swing of his machete, he had taken the creature’s head off.

“SAM!” Dean screamed, and Castiel looked up to see the female vampire holding a familiar-looking gun with mother-of-pearl grips. A gun which had been on the nightstand a moment ago. A gun which belonged to Sam— Sam, who was lunging across the room, intent on retrieving the machete on the floor.

Castiel could see what would happen next in exact detail.

In approximately 1.073 seconds, the vampire’s finger would depress the trigger, causing the bullet in the chamber to be expelled. Given the projected trajectory and velocity of the bullet, it would clip the left ventricle of Sam Winchester’s heart in approximately 1.568 seconds. It would be a fatal wound, one that Sam would not survive without some kind of supernatural intervention. Left unaided, he would go into shock and die in less than a minute.

Castiel knew all of this…and he also knew he could stop it effortlessly. Angels could bend time, stopping a mere bullet was nothing to them. However, Castiel could not do that without blowing his cover, and so he did the only thing he could under the circumstances.

He threw himself across the room, shoving Sam out of the path of the bullet and allowing it to impact his vessel’s left shoulder instead.

Castiel barely felt it. His grace had almost immediately started to seal the wound. However, Castiel tamped down on his grace firmly, stopping it from healing the injury. It would not do to be hit by a bullet and emerge entirely unscathed.

Meanwhile, Dean had snatched up the machete on the floor. Before the vampire could fire the gun again, he swung it with vicious force, beheading her in one clean stroke of the blade.

Castiel picked himself up from where he had fallen on top of Sam. He noted with some regret that the trench coat his vessel was wearing was now ruined.

It was curiously sentimental of him, an emotion more becoming for a human than an angel like himself, but Castiel had become somewhat… _fond_ of his vessel’s outfit, especially the trench coat, which as far as outfits went was very practical. The pockets, he felt, were especially useful for storing things.

“You saved my life,” Sam said, startling Castiel out of his ruminations on the benefits of practicality in human fashion. Sam was gazing at Castiel in wide-eyed wonder. Then his gaze dropped to Castiel’s shoulder and his expression became worried. “Are you okay?”

“I am fine,” Castiel said, before abruptly remembering that he was supposed to be quite badly injured and hastily adding, “Although I did get hit in the left shoulder.”

A moment later, he also remembered that such wounds were generally quite painful for humans.

“Oww,” he said, rather belatedly, and he winced, clutching his left shoulder and attempting to convincingly portray a state of extremely grave but stoically understated distress.

Sam stared at him in undisguised shock.

“ _Jesus Christ_ ,” said Dean as he came striding up with a first aid kit in his hands, “Do I have to do everything around here?”

“Get us some rags, Sam,” he barked, before turning to Castiel. “You. Lie down and don’t move. We’ve gotta get that bullet out of you.”

Castiel then underwent the most bizarre half an hour of his millennia-long existence as Dean Winchester proceeded to extract the bullet from his vessel’s flesh with surprising gentleness for someone who had thought Castiel was a demon. Sam hovered about worriedly, watching over Dean’s shoulder and occasionally fetching more rags to soak up the blood from Castiel’s wound.

“You know, you’re pretty tough for a nerdy little dude in a trench coat,” Dean commented as he worked. He sounded grudgingly impressed. “Got one hell of a pain tolerance.”

His voice was gruff, but his green eyes were warm and the way his lips twitched into a smile seemed to indicate that he was no longer quite as hostile towards Castiel as he had previously been.

There was nothing but silence for a while as Dean worked on stitching and bandaging the wound up. Sam had gone to dispose of the vampires’ corpses, leaving the two of them alone in the motel room. Dean had just finished packing up all the first aid supplies when he suddenly broke the silence.

“Thanks for saving our lives,” he said quietly, “I admit- I had my doubts about you at first. Heck, every instinct I have is screaming at me not to trust you…”

Castiel wasn’t surprised. Dean may have been all but human now, but he was still a fallen angel; he could undoubtedly sense that there was something not entirely human about Castiel.

Dean sighed, rubbing a hand across his face. “But… I gotta admit. If you’re a demon, you’re a piss poor excuse for one. Any demon worth their salt…” Dean paused for a beat, “…pun completely unintended, would be able to lie about ten thousand times more convincingly. I mean, the shit you say… it’s so ridiculous, it’s probably true. No self-respecting baddie could possibly lie as badly as that.”

Castiel wondered whether he should be insulted that Dean thought he was such a terrible liar that he couldn’t possibly be lying. However, this entirely suited Castiel’s purposes so he just nodded solemnly.

“And you did just get shot saving Sammy’s life,” Dean said. “I guess…what I’m trying to say is…”

Castiel waited patiently as Dean struggled to articulate himself. He got the feeling that Dean was not a man accustomed to making apologies or admitting that he was in the wrong.

“…I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have treated you like that this afternoon. I was being a total ass.”

“It is okay,” Castiel reassured him, “All has already been forgiven.”

“Damn, you’re _weird_.” Dean’s smile was fond. “You sound like you learned how to talk from a dictionary, or one of those really thick encyclopedias.” He chuckled. “Were you raised by the Amish or something?”

“The Amish?” Castiel said, frowning and cocking his head to one side quizzically.

“Seriously? You don’t know about the Amish?” Dean gave Castiel a look of disbelief. “Ultra-conservative Christians? Live like they’re still stuck in the 18th century and shun the outside world?”

“Oh,” said Castiel.

What was it that Balthazar had said? The best lies are built upon the truth?

“My upbringing was similar in many ways to what you just described,” Castiel said, “I was raised in an extremely religious family. My siblings and I…were not allowed much contact with the uh, ‘outside world’, as you call it. We were taught that duty and service to the Lord are the most important things in our existence.”

“Wow, your folks sound like a real fun bunch to be around,” Dean said. “Sunday dinners must be a blast.” After a moment, he remarked, seemingly to himself, “Huh. Well, that makes sense now.”

When Castiel looked at him, puzzled, Dean elaborated, “Your name.”

“My name?”

“You’re named after an angel, aren’t you? Castiel? The Angel of Thursday?”

“Yes,” said Castiel, fighting to keep his wings from twitching anxiously at this uncomfortable reminder of his deception. “You are correct.”

Dean didn’t notice Castiel’s discomfort. “So how did someone from your kind of background get into hunting? Can’t imagine your family being real happy about you running off to kill vampires, instead of saying your Hail Marys and singing hosannas or whatever.” He raised an eyebrow at Castiel, smirking.

“It is a long story,” Castiel said, “I am actually searching for someone. My brother.”

Dean’s smirk faded. In a surprisingly gentle tone, he said, “What happened to him?”

“He left,” Castiel said. It was extremely strange talking about Michael to his fallen, human self, who obviously remembered nothing of this. For some reason, Castiel found it difficult to meet Dean’s eyes.

Quietly, he said, “I do not know why he did it, but he ran away from our family. I think that perhaps he had become… disillusioned with our Father and the way things were in our family. So he left…. and I followed so that I could find him. He may have abandoned us, abandoned our family… but I cannot just…let him go like that. I have to— it’s my duty to bring him back…” Castiel stopped himself, afraid that he had revealed too much.

He felt strangely vulnerable, exposed, like he had laid himself bare in front of Dean, although he knew that Dean understood nothing of the truth. To him, Castiel was just talking about some stranger; he had no idea the brother Castiel was talking about was himself.

Chancing a glance up at Dean’s face, he saw that the other man’s eyes were soft with some heavy emotion that Castiel could not decipher.

“Do you know where your brother is now?”

_Yes, right in front of me_ , Castiel thought, but what he said was, “No, but I do know that he is a hunter. Following in his footsteps is my best chance for finding him.”

“Maybe I can help,” Dean said. “I know this guy- Bobby Singer- he’s got practically every hunter in this country in his phonebook. If anyone can help you find your brother, it’s him. I could give him a call. Get him to ask around for you. What’s your brother’s name?”

Dean was looking at Castiel so earnestly that the answer slipped out of Castiel’s mouth before he could even think about lying. “Michael,” he said, “My brother’s name is Michael.”

“Michael?” said Dean, “I know loads of Michaels. There are probably, like, a million people with that name. C’mon, dude. You gotta give me more than that. What’s your surname?”

“Novak,” Castiel said. It was probably not very wise of him to use his vessel’s surname, just in case Dean ever traced it back to James Novak. However, Castiel was not very familiar with human names, and this was far safer than attempting to make one up.

“Michael Novak. Can’t say I know any Michael Novaks,” Dean muttered to himself. He smiled at Castiel. “It’s okay though. We’ll ask around.”

Castiel nodded. “Thank you,” he said as he smiled back at Dean. It seemed like an appropriate response in such a situation.

“You’re welcome,” Dean said.

For a moment, they just smiled at each other.

Then suddenly, Dean said, “Hey, actually…you could uh… you could stay with me and Sam for a while—” He stopped, looking as if he was surprised himself at the offer he had just made.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” he said quickly. “It’s just that- we’re planning on heading to this bar in Nebraska. The Roadhouse. It’s sort of a watering hole for hunters. Pretty good place for information. You could ask around, you know, ‘bout your brother…”

He scratched the back of his neck, looking strangely bashful and a little uncertain.

Castiel was stunned. Could it really be so easy?

“And I thought- if you wanna head there, you could tag along with us? Or if you just want some company for the road. It’s not good for you to be hunting alone, without any backup, especially with your arm all banged up like that. And your car’s broken, isn’t it? We could stick together. At least ‘til you’re back up on your feet. But, I mean, it’s… it’s really up to you, Cas.”

Castiel tried not to let too much of his eagerness show. It would not do to scare Dean off, especially after a golden opportunity like this had just come tumbling into his lap.

“Yes,” he told Dean, face straight, “Of course I would like to join you and your brother. It would be a tremendous honor.”

“Great,” said Dean, grinning.

For some reason, he seemed relieved, as if he had been the one afraid that Castiel would refuse his offer. But Castiel did not think any more of it; he was too busy trying to contain his elation. That had been far easier than he had expected.

He had done it. He was going to become Dean Winchester’s friend.


	5. Chapter 5

**Part II- _The Difference Between Flying And Falling_  
**

**Chapter 5**

After the overcoming the hurdle of Dean’s initial distrust, Castiel found it surprisingly easy to start a friendship with him. Sam, already well disposed towards Castiel from the start, was more than happy to welcome Castiel into his company. The brothers seemed to enjoy having Castiel around, in a way that went beyond simply having an extra hand around during hunts.

(Castiel privately suspected it might have had something to do with the recent loss of their father, but after that one aborted mention of John Winchester prior to the vampires’ attack, Castiel never heard either brother bring up their father again. Nevertheless, the loss they obviously felt hung in the air like a shroud, invisible but ever-present.)

Both Dean and Sam had been horrified upon discovering that Castiel only owned the one suit of clothing he had been wearing and that he did not have a single cent to his name. They had insisted on giving him some of the cash that they won from hustling pool as well as a few fake credit cards.

(“Take ‘em,” Dean had said, “It’s not like it’s really our money anyway. Just, uh, don’t get caught, ‘kay?”)

Dean had asked Castiel to throw away the clothes he had been wearing when he got shot since they were all pretty much ruined by his vessel’s blood. Castiel had grudgingly agreed, though he had watched Dean take the familiar trench coat away for disposal with a strange sense of sadness and loss.

Castiel ended up wearing an assortment of Dean’s old clothing, Dean being closer in size to Castiel’s vessel than Sam. It felt somewhat strange to be in such casual dress instead of the suit and trench coat outfit he had become used to. However, he soon got used to it, much as he got used to living as a human.

It had been exhausting at first, pretending to be something he was not. Initially Castiel had been constantly on his guard, fearful of making some misstep that would alert the brothers to the fact that he was not as human they thought him to be.

However, gradually, as the days passed and Dean continued to take all of Castiel’s questions in his stride, Castiel began to relax, feeling more confident in his deception. It was surprisingly easy to forget that he was just playing a part.

Some days, it felt like that this, all of this- life on the road with the Winchesters, greasy diner food and cheap motel rooms, the soft feel of Dean’s ratty old Metallica T-shirts against his skin- was all that Castiel had ever known.

 

\---

 

“Hey Cas,” came Dean’s voice and Castiel looked up from the book he had been reading to see Dean walking towards their booth, a tray laden with food in his hands. He was grinning, a playful glint in his eyes. “Look what I got you.”

Across the table, Sam rolled his eyes. “Seriously, Dean. He’s a grown man, not a _toddler_.”

“Hey,” Dean grinned. “Cas here had a majorly sad childhood. I’m correcting that.”

Castiel furrowed his brows at the red and yellow cardboard box that Dean gleefully presented him with. “What is this? It’s different from the usual fare you order in fast food establishments.”

He opened up the box to find a hamburger inside together with a packet of fries and a soft drink. Curiously, aside from all the standard food items, there was also a tiny and brightly colored piece of plastic shaped to resemble a train, contained within a small plastic wrapper.

It seemed rather illogical to place such inedible items together with food. Castiel fished out the plastic train to stare at it. What could its purpose be?

“Is this a children’s toy?” he said to Dean. “What is it doing here with my food?”

Dean chuckled, smiling. For some reason, he always seemed to enjoy answering all of Castiel’s questions about human culture. He had pretty much appointed himself as Castiel’s guide to the ‘outside world’, as Dean liked to call anything Castiel didn’t fully understand. He was always trying to show Castiel new things.

Hence this strange cardboard box meal, Castiel supposed.

“It’s a Thomas the Tank Engine toy,” Dean told him, “It comes with the Happy Meal.” He was pointing at the red and gold cardboard box, which Castiel now belatedly realized was designed to look like a smiling face.

“Happy Meal?” said Castiel.

He pulled the ‘Thomas the Tank Engine’ out of its wrapping and looked at it quizzically. He then looked down at the food. It just looked like normal fast food.

Frowning in confusion, he said, “I don’t see what is especially happy about this meal.”

Dean let out a loud guffaw that caused several of their fellow diners to turn their heads to look at him. He reached over to clap Castiel on the shoulder. “You’re a national treasure, Cas.” He grinned at Castiel, fond and amused. “Don’t ever change.”

Castiel just looked at him blankly, and that only made Dean’s grin widen.

 _Humans are very perplexing_ , Castiel thought ruefully, but he felt a strange, blossoming warmth in his vessel’s chest as he tucked into the ‘Happy Meal’. Perhaps there was some merit to its name after all.

 

\---

 

“This is Jo,” Dean said, grinning, “The first time I met her, she punched me in the face. It was awesome.”

Jo smirked and reached out to shake Castiel’s hand. “The pleasure was all mine, I assure you,” she told Castiel.

Was it common for humans to show affection by physically assaulting each other? The thought bewildered Castiel- he certainly would not wish to hurt Dean or Sam- but he just smiled back at Jo and shook her hand.

As promised, Dean had finally brought Castiel around to the Roadhouse to ask about ‘Michael Novak’, Castiel’s supposed missing hunter brother. It had taken them nearly two months to get there, long after the wound on Castiel’s shoulder had healed, Castiel having suppressed his grace so that it would heal at a rate that was normal for humans. Two months was an inordinately long time, even given the Winchester’s usual meandering route of travel, stopping whenever they thought there was the possibility of a hunt, sometimes even going out of their way when the case seemed particularly serious.

Not that Castiel was complaining. This worked entirely in his favor. The more time he got to spend with the Winchesters, the more time he had to accomplish his mission.

Hunters as a whole were not a terribly trusting lot, but with Dean by his side, Castiel found himself being almost immediately accepted. Dean’s trust, it seemed, was as high of a recommendation as one could get in the hunting community.

Dean introduced him to Ash, a tall, lanky man who was a “genius with computers” and Jo’s mother, Ellen, a stern, no nonsense woman who had taken one look at Castiel and said, “So this is your new hunting partner?” She quirked an eyebrow, eyeing Castiel a little skeptically. Her tone of voice was dryly sardonic, but not unkind. “The way you were going on about him, I almost expected to see Vin Diesel striding in with you. Thought you said he was supposed to be some kind of stone cold badass.”

“He is,” Dean insisted. He grabbed Castiel by the shoulder to pull him closer for Ellen’s inspection, beaming proudly. Castiel allowed him to do so, though it would have been no effort at all to resist, and he listened bemusedly as Dean said, “Cleared an entire nest of ghouls pretty much by himself. Also, this guy’s a walking encyclopedia of everything supernatural. Sam doesn’t even have to hit the books anymore. Cas just looks at things and he _knows._ ” He grinned at Castiel. “He’s like the friggin’ Sherlock Holmes of the supernatural.”

Castiel felt a strange surge of warmth in the vicinity of his vessel’s stomach. Perhaps it was the extra spicy chili cheese fries that Dean had made him try that afternoon.

Ellen had looked at the two of them a little strangely after that speech, but then she said, “I’ll take your word for it,” offered them drinks, and that was the end of it.

As Castiel fully expected, all the asking around at the Roadhouse turned up no answers. Nobody had ever heard of a hunter named ‘Michael Novak’, and most likely, nobody ever would.

Castiel waited with some trepidation for Dean to bring up the subject of Castiel leaving their company. After all he had only offered to bring Castiel as far as the Roadhouse. It was not an open invitation to travel with the Winchesters forever. However, Dean never brought up the subject of Castiel leaving, and so Castiel never did.

 

\---

 

It wasn’t always easy travelling with the Winchesters. For one, Dean was still as much of an impulsive, reckless hothead as ever.

Castiel found himself arguing with Dean over the best way to hunt a pack of werewolves, eventually ending in a near shouting match- because Dean, human and fragile as he was, still insisted on taking ridiculous risks. He had wanted to offer himself up as _bait._ He seemed to have no care for his own safety, and it made Castiel incensed. They might even have come to blows if Sam hadn’t stepped in to defuse the situation.

Dean sometimes also lost his temper for little to no reason, falling into a sullen silence and drifting into his own private grief. Castiel knew the memory of his deceased father was still fresh. Sam usually knew when Dean was in a mood and left his brother alone, but Castiel, unfamiliar with human emotion, would blunder right into it.

Once, they had been researching for a hunt when Dean casually mentioned, “Demonic omens? There’s loads of info on that in Dad’s journal. He always—” Then his face froze and he abruptly stopped short. In hindsight, perhaps that should have been a warning.

However, Castiel, still not entirely well versed in human mannerisms, had asked Dean to let him have a look at the journal.

When Dean still hadn’t responded, Castiel had asked again until finally Dean, furious, had snapped at him to, “Shut the fuck up,” before storming out of the motel room, slamming the door behind him. The sound of tires screeching had been loud in the silence of the night.

However, the next day, Dean had come to Castiel. He hadn’t said a word of apology, but the old, slightly worn leather journal he passed to Castiel, and the way he said, “Here you go,” almost shyly, told Castiel everything that he needed to know.

Castiel had flipped through the journal gently. He knew how much it meant to Dean. He did not truly understand the illogical way humans attached sentiment to inanimate objects. They were just objects, nothing more. But he understood that Dean’s love for his father was bound up in this small, battered book, and so Castiel would treat it with the respect it deserved.

“Your father had beautiful handwriting,” he told Dean, a peace offering, and Dean’s lips had quirked into a soft smile.

\---

“Would you like to help me wash baby?” Dean said one day.

Castiel frowned at him, perplexed. “You’re going to wash a baby?”

Dean burst into laughter. “No, no, Baby as in my _car_ , you dumbass!”

He was grinning at Castiel in that fond way he did whenever Castiel said something that particularly amused him.

Castiel found his lips curving up into a smile too. He was pleased at having elicited such a response from Dean, however unplanned it might be. He had come to enjoy the sound of Dean’s laughter and the way Dean’s green eyes lit up when he was truly happy.

“So. Wanna help? I usually do it alone, but uh, figured a little company wouldn’t hurt.” Dean grinned, a teasing note slipping into his tone, “ _And_ we do pay for your food and board after all. You should work for your keep.”

“I hustled pool once,” Castiel pointed out. “I was pretty good at it.”

“That you were,” Dean agreed. “For someone who’d never before touched a pool stick in his life, you’re surprisingly good.”

“What can I say?” said Castiel, face straight, “I am full of surprises.”

Dean laughed. “Alright, why don’t you surprise me with your car washing skills? C’mon, up and at them. My baby needs a _good, thorough clean_.” The way Dean winked at Castiel, smirking, seemed to suggest that he was making a joke of the sexual variety, as he was often wont to do.

Castiel gave him the same expression that Sam usually employed when Dean was being like this. (Dean liked to refer to it as the ‘bitchface’.)

Dean just grinned and tossed a rag at his face. Castiel caught it in mid-air and smiled pleasantly at Dean’s disappointed expression when his missile failed to hit its target.

Castiel had never actually washed a car before in his entire millennia-long existence, but the logistics of it seemed to be simple enough. Water and soap. Car. Combine.

Given Castiel’s track record though, perhaps he should not have been quite so blasé about being able to immediately master any sort of human practice.

One crazily spinning, out of control hose later, Dean and Castiel were both drenched. The car was drenched. And so was everything within thirty feet of them.

Dean was laughing so hard that he was bent over. “Oh my god,” he said, “That was the most spectacular failure at hosing down a car I have ever seen. In my life.”

“Sorry,” offered Castiel hesitantly.

Dean waved a hand at him. “Don’t apologize, dude. That was amazing. I don’t think I’ve laughed so much in ages. My stomach hurts.”

“Are you okay?” Castiel said worriedly. “Is your stomach in great pain?”

He could have healed Dean of any physical ailment immediately with his grace, but the necessity of maintaining his cover meant he had to watch Dean get hurt without being able to do anything. He didn’t like it.

Castiel reached out to help Dean up. Still chuckling, Dean took his hand and allowed himself to be pulled upright.

“I’m fine, dude. You’re such a mother hen. Stop fussing. It’s friggin’ annoying,” he said, but the way he was grinning told Castiel that he was not being serious.

Castiel sighed. Humans were hard to understand. They always seemed to say things that were the exact opposite of what they really meant. They were such strange, illogical creatures.

As if to prove Castiel’s point, Dean started acting very strangely when Castiel was wiping down the car. For some reason, he kept staring at Castiel.

Castiel surreptitiously snuck a glance down at his body.

Other than the fact that he was all wet and the white T-shirt he had on was sticking very uncomfortably to his skin, everything seemed otherwise normal. His wings and grace weren’t visible, were they? Castiel was slightly concerned. However, Dean wasn’t screaming or trying to stab him, so it probably meant that Castiel’s cover was safe and it was just some odd human idiosyncrasy that had Dean spacing out like that.

Perhaps Castiel ought to catch his attention to break him out of it.

“Dean,” Castiel said, “Aren’t you going to clean your car?”

For a moment, Dean’s expression froze. He stared at Castiel for a long moment before his eyes widened. “I uh- I- Yeah.”

He didn’t meet Castiel’s eyes for the rest of the afternoon, but Castiel just put it down as yet another quirk of human behavior that he couldn’t hope to understand anytime soon.

 

\---

 

Castiel was standing silently in a corner of Dean and Sam’s motel room, watching them sleep from within the cover of invisibility. Unlike the humans, Castiel did not actually require sleep, and so he usually spent his nights standing vigil in a corner of their room, watching Dean sleep.

Old habits died hard, as the humans would say.

Watching Dean sleep, the gentle rise and fall of his chest with every soft breath, Castiel felt a quiet sense of peace. Dean’s features, so familiar to Castiel now, were serene in sleep, and Castiel felt his lips twitch into a small smile at the sight.

It was strange to think, just a few months ago, Dean had just been another step in Castiel’s mission to restore Michael, nothing more than an annoying, mouthy, overly paranoid hurdle to be overcome before Castiel could restore his fallen brother.

When he had first embarked upon this mission, Castiel had been prepared to grudgingly tolerate Dean, for just as long as it took to win Dean’s trust and weasel out the location of Michael’s grace. He had been prepared to fake a smile, to force himself to pretend to enjoy the human’s company. He had not been prepared to actually come to _like_ Dean.

But now… after all the time he had spent together with Dean, one thing had become clear— Castiel truly was Dean’s friend, in more than just name.

It was illogical. It was foolish in the extreme. Dean Winchester was just a shell, as Raphael had said. Once Michael’s grace was found and Castiel completed his mission, Dean as he was would cease to exist. Michael the archangel would be back in all his glory, to lead the Heavenly Host once more to victory, and all of Creation would rejoice.

Everything would be as it should be.

So why then did Castiel feel such a strange sense of sadness about this?

There was a flutter of wings.

“Hey Castiel,” said Balthazar. “Nice threads.”

One of his eyebrows was quirked. For some reason, he was staring at the Guns N’ Roses T-shirt that Castiel was wearing.

“Threads?” Castiel said. He was a little startled by Balthazar’s sudden appearance, though he hid it well.

After Castiel had managed to secure the invitation from Dean to travel with him and his brother, Balthazar and Anna had left Castiel alone to continue his part of the mission while they attempted to pursue other avenues of searching for Michael’s grace. Castiel had been understandably anxious about being left alone at first, but eventually he had grown comfortable enough in maintaining his deception, to the point that he sometimes almost forgot the other angels were also part of this mission.

“Your clothes, Castiel,” Balthazar said with an air of long-suffering exasperation. “You have a lamentably poor grasp of human slang for someone who’s spent the better part of three months living as one of them.”

Castiel graciously ignored that slight.

“This is one of Dean’s old T-shirts,” he said. “He gave it to me after he realized I owned no clothing other than what I had already been wearing. I rather like this shirt. It used to be one of Dean’s favorites. I can see why, it really is quite comfortable.”

There was a smug, knowing look on Balthazar’s face. “Mmm hmm, bet it is,” he said, in a tone that suggested he knew something that Castiel didn’t and he was determined to be an incredible pain about it.

“What is that supposed to mean, Balthazar?” Castiel said, but before he could wrangle an answer out of Balthazar, Anna appeared.

“Hello, Castiel,” she said, “Is everything going well?”

“Yes, I have made much progress in befriending Dean Winchester,” Castiel said. “How is your search for Michael’s grace going?”

“Terribly,” Balthazar piped up before Anna could respond, “Calling it a wild goose chase would be _generous_. Whoever hid Michael’s grace did a really good job. _Too_ good, almost…” Balthazar trailed off, his expression uncharacteristically serious.

“Do you have any suspicions about who it might be?” Castiel asked.

“Maybe… maybe…” Balthazar said lightly. He was grinning again, all traces of solemnity gone. “I’d rather not say too soon. After all, if it is who I think it is, things are probably going to get awfully interesting sooner or later.”

His lips quirked sardonically. “Anyway. Looks like we’ll all be counting on you, Cassie. The bosses have called- they want me and Anna back in Heaven. Much as it breaks my heart to say, my little earthly sojourn has come to an end.”

Anna nodded in confirmation. “Yes. We have received new orders. Balthazar and I are being recalled to our usual duties. You are to complete the rest of this mission by yourself and report in as and when you are called.”

Castiel thought he would be more affected by this news, but curiously he felt nothing much at all. At one point in time, he would likely have flown into a panic, wondering how he’d manage on his own, but now it makes him a little glad, in some secret, selfish part of him, that this mission – that Dean– would now be his and his alone.

Oblivious to Castiel’s thoughts, Anna smiled reassuringly at him and said, “Don’t worry, brother. You seem to have the situation well in hand. But if you do ever need help, simply call for us and we will come.”

Castiel nodded, giving her a grateful smile. Anna’s lips twitched into an answering smile and she said, “In the meantime, I do have a garrison to run. And Balthazar, try as he may to deny it, does have his own duties.”

“Oh _joy,_ ” Balthazar drawled, “Well, I’ll see you around, Cassie. Have fun pretending to be one of the mud monkeys.”

He disappeared after giving Castiel a sardonic little wave.

“All the best, Castiel,” Anna said, smiling, and then she turned to leave, spreading her wings.

Perhaps Castiel had been living too long amongst the humans, because he found himself saying, impulsively, “Anna. Have you ever—”

 _Wondered whether what we’re doing is right_ , Castiel wanted to say.

But Anna was still an angel. She was his superior. While Castiel would trust her with his life, this was something Castiel could never trust her, or any other angel with.

If anyone knew about the doubts Castiel was starting to have, he would be killed— or worse, taken back to Heaven for ‘re-education’. And the very worst of all, some other angel would be sent to take his place. Some other angel would be the one getting close to Dean. Some other angel who did not care for Dean’s welfare, who would see him as no more than a piece to a puzzle, the means to an end, just like Castiel had done before he had come to know Dean.

That thought of it made Castiel feel sick, even though he knew full well that angels could not fall ill.

Anna was still looking at him expectantly; she was obviously waiting for him to continue.

“Tried pie?” Castiel finally said. He gave Anna a smile that probably looked every bit as forced as it felt. “It is very good. Dean gave me some this evening. I think it was apple pie.”

Anna was looking at him strangely. There was something uncomfortably piercing about her gaze, and for one long moment, Castiel waited in fear, wondering if Anna had seen right through him. But then Anna’s lips twitched into a smile. “I haven’t had any apple pie, no. But perhaps I shall try some before I return to Heaven, given that it comes so highly recommended. Farewell, Castiel. Keep safe.”

 

\---

 

Castiel stood on the patio of the small suburban home that he and the Winchesters were squatting in for the duration of their hunt. Leaves rustled above him as the wind whistled through the overhanging branches of a large oak tree. The night breeze was cool on his skin.

The Winchesters were both asleep, but tonight, for some reason, Castiel did not feel up to his usual nightly vigil. Instead he stepped onto the lawn, barefoot, the grass tickling his toes. Breathing deeply, he turned his face up towards the heavens.

The stars were bright against the black of the night sky, all the winking multitudes of them. Castiel exhaled slowly. Even after all his millennia of existence, he would never cease to be amazed by the beauty of his Father’s Creation.

“They’re beautiful, aren’t they? The stars.”

Castiel turned to see Dean standing on the patio. There was a small, pensive smile on his face. A bottle of beer was in his hand, condensation still beading on the glass.

He padded over to Castiel’s side. “Couldn’t sleep either?”

Castiel nodded and joined Dean as the hunter sat down on the grass. They sat in companionable silence for a while, Dean sipping his beer and Castiel gazing up at the stars.

Then Dean broke the silence.

“I used to go out to look at the stars when I was a kid. Back when Dad would dump me and Sam at Bobby’s. I would sneak out to the scrapyard, crawl on top of one of the old clunkers and just sit there and look at ‘em. Bobby woulda killed me if he ever caught me, but I didn’t care.” Dean chuckled, a small, fond smile ghosting over his lips.

“I loved looking at the stars, I dunno why, I just did. Always made me feel kinda…peaceful, I guess. Like I belonged. Like there was some kind of…connection. Like I was one with the universe, or some crap like that.” He laughed self-deprecatingly. “Sounds pretty silly, doesn’t it? Christ, I was such a hippie as a kid.”

“It’s not silly,” Castiel said.

Dean scoffed softly, taking a swig of his beer before saying, “Well, my dad would disagree. He caught me once when I was sitting outside the motel. It was past midnight and Sammy was inside sleeping. It was just me, out in the parking lot, looking at the stars. Dad came back and I didn’t have the sense to get in before he spotted me. Boy was he _mad_. I thought I was gonna get a hiding like you wouldn’t believe.”

Dean chuckled, cracking a grin in fond memory.                         

This was the first time Dean had voluntarily spoken so much about his father in all the time Castiel had known him. Castiel didn’t speak, afraid of breaking whatever spell it was that had Dean in such a strangely sentimental, sharing mood.

“But all he did was yell at me. He told me I was being silly. That I knew what was lurking out there in the dark, and he’d raised me better than this. The monsters wouldn’t care if I was just some stupid little boy, sitting there in the dark and staring at the sky like a fool. From that day onwards, I didn’t do it again. I didn’t want to disappoint him.” As Dean spoke, he looked up at the stars. His eyes were wistful.

Castiel knew Dean’s father had not been a model parent by any means. However, it was obvious that John Winchester, for all his flaws, was deeply loved by Dean.

Castiel didn’t speak because he didn’t know what to say. He had no experience with such matters; the only Father he had ever known was God, and Castiel had never even seen His face.

“And then I grew up, started hunting, and there was no time for silly stargazing anyway. So it’s for the better, really,” Dean said. There was something strangely sad about his smile. “You know, I used to have these really weird dreams when I was a kid. Maybe that’s why I like the stars so much.”

He took another swig of his beer.

“What were your dreams about?” Castiel asked, though he suspected he already knew the answer.

“I don’t remember them that well,” Dean said, “Just fragments, really. There were stars. I was flying, I think, up in the sky. It was really weird. Real mind trippy kinda stuff. Like I was all jazzed out on acid. Pretty cool, I guess. I liked that part. But the thing is… after a while, the dream would start to turn bad.”

Dean fell silent for a while before continuing. “I don’t remember much. But what I do remember is the falling. Something was burning around me, I could smell it. It was horrible. There was so much pain, and I was falling so fast, I was screaming- I was _so scared_ —”

Dean sucked in a sharp breath and looked away. He appeared to be trying to get himself under control. His fingers were shaking, a minute tremble almost too imperceptible to be noticed by anyone not in possession of angelic senses.

Castiel thought of Michael, plummeting down from the heavens, his wings, his very self- burning up from the inside as he was reborn. It was probably the most painful experience any angel could ever endure. It was no wonder that Michael- that Dean had been terrified.

Dean exhaled loudly. “God, I was such a messed up kid. If Dad had brought me to see one of those kiddie shrinks, they’d probably have given him some crap about my mom’s death and repressed emotions, or some bullshit like that.”

He chuckled dryly. “Guess that’s why I’m always scared shitless of flying. Some crappy recurring nightmare from all my repressed childhood trauma. It’s ironic, really—I love the stars, but I’ve got a phobia of flying? That’s some real messed up shit right there.”

Dean was breathing heavily, staring fixedly at his fingers where they were wrapped tightly around his beer bottle, and though he had spoken in a wryly self-deprecating, flippant tone of voice, Castiel knew that Dean’s insouciance was entirely false.

Hesitantly, feeling rather awkward, Castiel reached out to pat Dean’s hand. He was unsure if this was the correct human social protocol in such a situation, but in the past, he had seen humans do this as a gesture of comfort. Perhaps this would make Dean feel better.

Dean looked up, as if surprised at Castiel’s touch, but he didn’t draw away.

“Thanks, Cas,” he said softly. “I know you didn’t come out here to listen to all my drunken rambling, but uh. Thanks for listening anyway.”

He thrust his bottle of beer at Castiel. “Here. Have some. Can’t believe I didn’t offer you any earlier and you had to sit through all of that sober.”

When Castiel did not take the beer, Dean nudged him lightly in the chest with the bottle and said, “Go on, take it.”

Castiel took the bottle of beer, if only to please Dean. Alcohol had no effect on him, obviously, but Dean wanted him to drink it. And so Castiel did just that, taking a small sip. The taste of the beer was surprisingly agreeable against his tongue, and after he swallowed it down, it left a strangely pleasing sort of warmth in his stomach.

“So, Cas… what’s your greatest fear?” Dean said as Castiel passed the bottle back to him. He grinned at Castiel in a manner that Castiel was beginning to recognize as teasing. “I told you mine, that means you gotta tell me yours.”

“I didn’t ask you to tell me,” Castiel pointed out. “I do not see why I should have to return the favor for information freely volunteered.”

“C’mon, dude. It’s only fair.”

Castiel did not quite understand Dean’s definition of fairness, but the way Dean was smiling at him, soft and fond, made Castiel feel indulgent enough to try to come up with an answer for Dean.

“I haven’t really considered this before,” he said truthfully.

“Everyone’s scared of something,” Dean said. Grinning conspiratorially, he gave Castiel a playful nudge with his elbow. “Even stone-cold badass hunters like you and me.”

After a long moment of consideration, Castiel finally said, “I guess I’m afraid of… doubt. Of losing conviction. Losing faith.”

“What?” Dean said, his face scrunched up in confusion. “Doubt? That’s one hell of a weird thing to be scared of. How can you be scared of _doubt_? People are scared of heights and clowns and spiders. Not _doubt_.”

“It’s hard to explain,” Castiel said, “But I will try my best to. Have you ever- have you ever believed something for your whole life, something that you knew was right and true? But then… you realized that your beliefs were changing- that you were changing- and everything you thought about the world, about your family and yourself, about what was _right_ \- all of that was changing.”

He thought of the doubts he harbored deep inside him, kept secret because nobody could ever know. His doubts about Heaven, about the divine plan, about Dean and Michael- everything that he had once so fervently believed in… and which he now suspected was wrong.

“And you know that that allowing this doubt to grow in you—it would mean losing your family, losing everything you had ever known. So you have to hide that doubt. Bury it deep down inside. Because if you acted on it, you’d be forever cast out, estranged from all you once knew…” Castiel knew this was unwise, but he could not help the words that tumbled from his mouth, a soft, barely audible whisper, “…fallen from grace.”

Dean’s eyes were wide with heavy emotion. He was looking at Castiel sadly, and Castiel eventually realized that the emotion in his eyes was sympathy. He reached out to squeeze Castiel’s arm.

“It’s okay, Cas,” Dean said, “Who cares about your religious nutjob family and what they think? If they don’t want you around, then, well— _screw them_. You’ve still got me.” After a beat, “And Sam too, of course. You’re not alone. We’ve got your back. We’ll be your new family.”

Dean declared all of this with an earnestness that would undoubtedly have embarrassed him had he been entirely sober. However, in his current state of inebriation, all he did was grin fondly at Castiel, eyes warm and brimming with emotion.

For a moment, Castiel could almost lose himself in Dean’s green eyes and gentle smile. Looking at him like that, Castiel could almost make himself forget about his mission; he could almost believe in the truth of what Dean said.

“Thank you, Dean,” he said softly, warmth curling in his chest.

“No need to thank me, Cas,” Dean said. “After all, we’re family, right?” He let out a soft chuckle. “And that’s about my chick flick limit for the night. Now what do you say we finish the rest of my beer before it gets too warm?”

And so Castiel spent the rest of the night lying on the grass together with Dean in companionable silence, gazing up at the stars and trading the beer around, each of them taking smaller and smaller sips to make it last. Dean drifted off eventually, falling asleep on the dew-soaked grass.

Castiel put two fingers to his forehead, a gentle touch, just the barest infusion of grace. It was reckless, an unnecessary risk, but the night was chilly, autumn turning to winter, and Castiel didn’t want Dean to catch a cold. He watched over Dean as the hunter slept, until the stars finally faded from the sky, chased by the soft light of day.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

Dean and Sam didn’t often take breaks from hunting. They usually moved from one case to another with barely a pause in between. The evil in the world didn’t punch in at nine and out at five, and so neither did the Winchesters. There were always monsters lurking out there and people that needed saving. The supernatural didn’t rest, and the same went for Sam and Dean. However, even the most dedicated of hunters had to take a break sometimes.

Especially when they came down with the flu.

“The mighty Sam Winchester, downed by the flu,” Dean declared loftily. He was smirking. “Of all the ways to go.”

Sam, lying back in his motel bed, glared daggers at him and then had to reach up to adjust the ice pack on his forehead as it began to slip.

“Shuddup ‘n bing me tisoo, jerk,” Sam croaked, a string of near incomprehensible muffled gibberish which Castiel mentally translated into a command for Dean to bring some tissues.

Dean brought the tissues and Sam proceeded to blow his nose loudly.

“Gosh, you’re such a little bitch when you’re sick,” Dean said fondly. “Now finish up your chicken soup, pop some Advil and go the fuck to sleep.” He smirked. “Unless you need me to sing a ‘lil lullaby and tuck you in?”

Eyes closed and lying back on the bed, Sam merely raised his middle finger at Dean, a gesture Castiel suspected was probably meant to be quite rude.

 

 

Dean laughed. Grabbing his coat and scarf, he motioned for Castiel to follow him out of the motel room. They stepped out into the brisk winter air, breaths fogging around them.

Snowflakes were drifting down from the darkness of the night sky, small and white against the warm glow of the street lamps. It had been snowing since morning and a thick layer of white coated everything, even Dean’s beloved Impala. The snow looked to be at least a few inches thick.

“The rate this is going, I might just have to dig Baby out,” Dean said, a touch ruefully. “Just look at all that snow. Hoo boy.” He grinned. “Hey, do you think monsters ever take a snow day? Maybe it’s too cold for them to get up to their usual nasty business. Maybe they’re all huddled around little monster fires in their little monster lairs sipping hot chocolate.” He chuckled to himself, seemingly amused by his ridiculous statement.

Castiel frowned. “Most supernatural beings aren’t as affected by temperature changes as humans are. I doubt that a mere drop in temperature would deter them from going about their usual activities.”

“Gee Cas, way to be a wet blanket,” Dean said, “What? You think werewolves and vampires don’t deserve to have some hot chocolate too? That’s pretty racist.”

He was shaking his head, as if in disappointment. Once Castiel might have thought he was being serious, but he was growing better at reading Dean with every day. Seeing the playful mirth in Dean’s eyes and the sly twitch of his lips, Castiel recognized Dean’s words for the joke they were and he chuckled along with Dean.

They watched the snow fall for a while in silence before Dean abruptly said, “You ever played with the snow before?” He darted a quick look at Castiel. “I’m guessing your parents probably didn’t let you.”

“No, I haven’t,” Castiel answered truthfully.

“Damn, that’s sad,” Dean said. Suddenly, he drew a sharp breath, eyes widening in fear. “Crap! Cas, look out-”

Startled, Castiel immediately spun in the direction Dean was looking; he hadn’t sensed any danger—

There was nothing but the parking lot and the sidewalk, empty but for the snowflakes drifting slowly through the air. Bewildered, Castiel turned back to face Dean.

He was promptly met with a snowball to the face.

Icy slush dripped down his face as Castiel stared at Dean, his brows slowly furrowing into a frown. Dean, who had already been sniggering from the moment he had hurled the snowball at Castiel, burst into laughter at the sight of Castiel’s expression.

“What is the meaning of this?” Castiel asked.

“It’s a snowball fight, you idiot,” Dean said, grinning widely. As he spoke, he was already packing snow into a ball in his hands. “We make snowballs and throw them at each other. Like this.” He lobbed another snowball at Castiel.

Castiel could have avoided it easily. He was an angel; he could cross dimensions in an instant, stepping out of the way of Dean’s rudimentary ice projectile was nothing. But he stood still and allowed it to impact him in the chest.

“C’mon,” said Dean, still grinning like a loon. “Hit me back!”

He waved his arms at Castiel. “I’m right here!”

“This is silly,” Castiel said. “And extremely pointless.”

“Exactly!” Dean grinned. “That’s why it’s so awesome!”

He threw another snowball at Castiel. This time it hit Castiel right smack in the nose.

“Packed snow is an extremely inefficient weapon,” Castiel informed Dean. “It doesn’t have enough solidity to do any real damage. And it melts.”

“You’re even worse at this than Sam. At least Sam would _try_ to fight back.”

“Why would I fight back? I have no wish to hurt you, Dean.”

Dean groaned. “Jesus, Cas. You’re making me feel like a real villain here-”

The snowball hit him right in the mouth. For the next few seconds, Dean was spitting snow, spluttering in furious disbelief. Castiel was already ducking into cover over on the other side of the Impala.

“Son of a bitch! You sneaky little shit—” Dean hollered, and then the battle was on.

 

\---

 

Castiel was a soldier, a warrior of God. He had fought in countless skirmishes against demons and monsters and faced horrors far worse than Dean and all the hunters on earth could ever imagine. He had done battle in the war for Heaven itself. He had won many victories despite facing overwhelming odds. He was an excellent fighter, a true master of battlefield tactics, with millennia of experience to boast of.

He was not about to lose a snowball fight.

Dean had the benefit of familiarity with the ammunition they were using, but Castiel was an angel of the Lord. And he was also not above a little cheating.

Dean finally fell under the furious onslaught of snowballs Castiel had hurled at him with uncanny precision and a speed that could almost have been called supernatural. Castiel stood over his fallen foe and said in the stentorian tones of a victorious warrior of God, “Dean Winchester. Do you submit?”

“Jesus Christ!” Dean panted from where he lay on the ground, covered by a veritable avalanche of snow. “You’re a freaking _nightmare_! Why did I think this was a good idea again?”

“I am not Jesus Christ. My name is Castiel,” Castiel told Dean, but after a moment, he lost the struggle against the grin his lips kept trying to twitch into.

Dean groaned but then let out an involuntary snort of laughter. “You’re such a little shit,” he informed Castiel.

Castiel smiled. “That sounds like something that someone who has just suffered an abysmal loss would sa—”

Dean tackled him around the middle. There was a brief moment of vertigo, a split second of falling, before Castiel’s back hit snow. He sunk into the softness of the snowdrift, pinned down by Dean’s weight. Dean had raised himself up and he was leaning over Castiel, his fingers closed around Castiel’s wrists. His eyes were sparkling with playful mischief, lips twitched into a small smirk.

It would have been child’s play for Castiel to throw him off. He could lift mountains with his true strength; one tiny human was nothing to him. But Castiel just laid back on the snow, letting Dean press him down.

He looked up at Dean’s face, flushed red from the cold and their earlier exertion during the snowball fight.

Snow drifted slowly through the air. A single snowflake caught on Dean’s upper eyelashes. As Dean blinked, once, slowly, it fell away. Beneath his lashes, Dean’s eyes were a brilliant green.

Castiel felt his breath catch in his throat.

The moment seemed to stretch— time frozen as much as the ice of the snowflakes falling all around them. Castiel felt a strange sense of weightlessness, like he was flying, or maybe falling—the difference was hard to tell.

There was something about the way that Dean was looking at him…

“Dean?” came a weak whisper, but in the silence of the night, it was clear as a bell.

Dean jerked. His head whipped around. Castiel followed the motion and saw Sam standing at the doorway of their motel. His eyes were glazed over. He looked as if he was two seconds away from throwing up or falling into a dead faint.

“Sammy!”

Dean rushed over to where Sam was leaning heavily against the doorframe. Sam was blubbering out an apology, speech slurred from the fever, saying something about having run out of tissues and it being too hot in the room. Dean fussed over him, naked worry on his face.

For some reason, Castiel felt a strange sense of regret and loss, as though something precious had slipped through his fingers, so close and yet so far out of reach. But that did not make any sense at all. So Castiel put it out of his mind and helped Dean to bring Sam out of the cold and back into the room.

 

\---

 

Castiel had not seen another angel for nearly a month since Anna and Balthazar had come to inform him of their departure. Thus, he was understandably surprised when he heard the sound of wings and sensed the presence of one of his fellow angels.

“Brother,” Uriel greeted evenly. He was wearing the form of a heavyset, dark-skinned man in an immaculate suit.

“Uriel,” Castiel said, trying to hide his shock. He had expected Balthazar or Anna, not Uriel. It was strange that Raphael was choosing to induct so many into his supposedly ‘secret’ mission. “What is the purpose of this visit?”

He glanced nervously at the Gas-n-Sip that the Winchester brothers had entered five minutes ago. “It is not safe for you to be here. Sam and Dean will get suspicious if they see you. My cover—”

“Yes, I know all about your little deception for the mud monkeys, Castiel.” Uriel’s lips curled into a sneer; his distaste was palpable. “It must pain you to have to pretend to enjoy the company of those filthy, bloody-minded savages.”

Castiel felt a thread of anger curl through him. His tone was sharp as he said, “Uriel. This is Michael the archangel you are talking about. Show some respect.”

“Michael?” Uriel snorted, an ugly look of disgust on his face. “Why should I show _Michael_ any respect? He has fallen. Become one of _them_. Just another human, same as all the other humans on this miserable, diseased piece of rock.”

Castiel was shocked by Uriel’s blatant disdain. He had known that many angels felt that humans were lesser creatures, like mere sheep or cattle to be herded, for all that their Father had asked them to bow before mankind. Once, Castiel might even have shared some of that sentiment himself. However, after seeing the world at Dean’s side, he understood… humanity was flawed, yes, but also worth saving.

For every desperate crime committed in the dark of the night, all the evil and greed and cruelty in the world, there was kindness and bravery and self-sacrifice. There were humans like Sam and Dean, Jo and Ellen and Ash and Bobby, who fought daily against evil, working tirelessly behind the scenes, sacrificing everything they had, all so that they could save people who might never truly know what they did or even offer a word of thanks. Humans were not like angels, created for a purpose, to serve God’s will. They did not _have_ to be good, and yet they _chose_ to be so. Were they not far more admirable for that?

But Castiel could not voice any of this to Uriel or give Uriel the chastisement he deserved, even though Uriel was Castiel’s underling, not when he was obviously here on Raphael’s orders.

“I will make this quick then,” Uriel said, “Lest your pet mud monkeys overhear. Castiel, you have been on Earth for four months and sixteen days, and still we do not have Michael’s grace.” Uriel’s face was blank, his tone pleasant, but nobody could mistake the underlying threat in his words as he said, “Raphael expects results, brother. For your sake, I hope that you produce some soon.”

He was gone in a flutter of wings before Castiel could work past the lump in his throat to come up with an appropriate response.

 

\---

 

Castiel sat mulling over Uriel’s warning that night in the motel room. Sam seemed to have sensed Castiel’s dark mood and he kept to himself, cleaning his weapons quietly in his corner of the room. Castiel was thankful for Sam’s sensitivity. Dean, on the other hand, had gone out.

A few hours earlier, he had whipped the keys to the Impala out from his jacket and gone off whistling, practically with a spring in his step, after telling Sam and Castiel “not to wait up.”

Castiel was long past the days of wanting to smite Dean for his unrepentant, womanizing ways, but he had to admit a sour twinge of disappointment at the sight of the merry, careless grin on Dean’s face. It was none of Castiel’s business how Dean spent his nights.

Admittedly, Dean’s trips to drinking establishments had tapered off over the months since Castiel had joined the Winchester’s company, and Dean had not spent a night outside for a long while, but Castiel was well aware that he could not possibly expect Dean’s strange and inexplicable abstinence to last forever.

And yet, so fast on the heels of Uriel’s disparaging words about humanity, Castiel could not help but feel frustrated at Dean for his behavior. For some reason, the thought of Dean becoming intimate with some stranger he met in a bar left a sour sort of anger roiling in the pit of Castiel’s stomach. It was irrational in the extreme for him to be so angry, and knowing this made Castiel even more furious.

He was still stewing in sullen fury when Dean came back.

Sam had long since fallen asleep and the human was currently snoring softly on his bed. Castiel used to stay in a separate room from the Winchesters, but after the first two months, Dean had proposed that they all share a room when they could in order to save costs. And so when the key jingled in the lock and the door to their motel room opened, Castiel was sitting on the bed that was nominally his (and which he did not actually sleep in), glaring irritably at the air.

“Oh, hey Cas,” Dean said. He sounded surprised. “You’re still up. I thought I told you guys—”

Castiel raised his hands and made air-quotes, “‘Not to wait up for you’. Yes, I heard. I was not waiting up for you.”

Castiel looked over at him. Strangely, Dean did not smell of whiskey, cigars and sex as he customarily did after he visited one of his usual dens of iniquity to fornicate with women.

He was holding a strange bundle in his hands. When Castiel’s gaze fell upon it, Dean hurriedly jerked the bundle out of sight behind him.

Castiel’s eyes narrowed in suspicion.

Dean took in Castiel’s expression and sighed, rueful and embarrassed. “Ah well.” He stepped forward towards Castiel’s bed. “I was planning to surprise you with this, but I guess the cat’s out of the bag…”

He produced the bundle from behind his back and thrust it at Castiel. He looked uncharacteristically shy.

“I saw how disappointed you were when I threw it away…” Dean said hesitantly, “And I know how much it must have meant to you. I mean, you friggin’ wore it and walked for miles and miles in the heat rather than leave it behind—”

Castiel stared in shock at the trench coat. It looked exactly like his old trench coat, except it wasn’t covered all over in blood and missing one sleeve from where Dean had cut through it for ease of access to Castiel’s gunshot wound.

“I know it can’t replace the old one. Not really…” Dean continued, “But uh, I thought maybe you’d like another one like it? I hope it doesn’t smell like weed or anything. It was pretty hard to find. I had to go through eBay and get this from some sleazy dude who looked like a park flasher-” Dean laughed nervously, “-okay, maybe I shouldn’t be telling you this…”

Castiel felt as though he had been robbed of the ability to speak. He stared dumbly at the familiar tan trench coat. There was a weird achy and warm feeling in his chest, not exactly painful but not wholly pleasant.

“But, um. Yeah. Hope you like it...” Dean trailed off and he stood there, smiling tightly. It seemed that his powers of speech were similarly failing him.

“I like it. Very much,” Castiel said. He stroked a hand over the lapel, the strange achy-warm feeling surging in his chest again. “Thank you, Dean,” he managed to croak out before it felt as if his throat had closed off.

He smiled at Dean, letting his gratitude show, and the anxiety immediately fell away from Dean’s face to be replaced by happiness that was almost painfully earnest.

Then Dean’s gaze fell upon Castiel’s hand, still stroking the lapel of the coat. His smile turned teasing.

“Do you and the trench coat need to be alone?” He waggled his eyebrows at Castiel. “I could get you guys another room.”

After all the time he had spent together with Dean, Castiel was able to recognize this for the lewd joke that it was.

“It is okay,” he told Dean, deadly serious. “I don’t require another room. This one is perfectly fine.”

After a beat, he added, “You can watch.” He gave Dean a grin worthy of Balthazar and winked.

Castiel would never forget the expression on Dean’s face as blood rushed to his cheeks and he tried his best not to choke. Castiel had to pat his back for the next few minutes as Dean coughed and spluttered, red-faced, but it was entirely worth it.

 

\---

 

Dean’s gift had come at the perfect time. The next day Dean announced that Castiel would be coming along with them to interview the witnesses for their latest case. It seemed that he had finally decided that Castiel’s ‘people skills’ were good enough for him to pass muster as a FBI agent.

“He’s not your Ken Doll, Dean,” Sam said as Dean tried to adjust Castiel’s tie for the sixth time. “Stop fooling around with his clothes.”

“You know how wrong that sounds, right?” Dean said, but he ignored Sam’s grumbling and moved on to straightening the lapels of Castiel’s trench coat. Finally, after one last tug to Castiel’s coat lapels, he stood back with a satisfied huff. Hands on his hips, he admired his work.

Castiel stared back at him, expressionless.

Dean grinned. “And remember, Cas, why do we lie?”

“Because that’s how you become President,” Castiel said dutifully.

“Atta boy,” Dean said, “Let’s roll.”

 

\---

 

“Wife suddenly goes crazy, goes after husband with frying pan and bashes his head in? Sounds like demonic possession to me,” Sam said.

“Or a simple domestic dispute,” Dean said, “Hey. Maybe he was diddling the babysitter.”

Sam gave Dean the ‘bitchface’.

“What do you think, Cas?” he said, turning to look at Castiel. “You’re always onto these guys right away. What’s the verdict this time?”

Castiel was, for the first time since he started hunting with the Winchesters, unsure about what creature it was that they were hunting. The crime scene had been clear of any traces of sulfur, but it had been too clean, almost as if something else had come in to clear up the mess. Whatever it was, Castiel could not identify it and that troubled him.

“I’m not sure,” he finally admitted reluctantly. “I can’t figure this one out. I’m sorry.” He bowed his head, looking down at his hands, but then Dean was grabbing his shoulder.

“Hey Cas, don’t apologize. You don’t have to get it right all the time, you know. We’re not gonna kick you out just ‘cuz you can’t figure out one case. I told you already—you’re family. You’re stuck with us.” Smiling warmly, Dean gave Castiel’s shoulder a gentle squeeze. “So chin up, yeah? We’ll figure this one out together. Alright?”

Castiel nodded uncertainly. Dean gave his shoulder another squeeze, grinning, and Castiel found his lips twitching into an answering smile.

They smiled at each other for a while.

Sam made a strange noise, almost like a snort. He was rolling his eyes.

“You have something you want to share with the class, Sam?” Dean said. Releasing Castiel’s shoulder, he turned around to scowl at his brother.

Castiel felt a strange, inexplicable pang of disappointment at that.

“Nothing,” said Sam, “Nothing at all. I’m just gonna head out, hit the bars, see if I can chase down any leads. I’ll probably be gone the whole night. You two crazy kids can go back to the motel, _sleep_ , or y’know, do whatever else you wanna do.”

Grinning, he sauntered off.

Castiel was puzzled by the strange emphasis that Sam had put on the word ‘sleep’ and also the way that Dean was glaring at Sam, looking as if he wanted nothing more than to wring his little brother’s neck.

“So. You wanna head back to the motel?” Dean said finally. His glare had subsided and he looked a little awkward.

“Okay,” said Castiel, puzzled.

When they got back, Dean continued acting strangely. He kept staring at Castiel, and Castiel simply stared back blankly, until finally Dean sighed deeply, announced he was going to sleep, and toppled onto his bed without even washing up or brushing his teeth.

Castiel listened to Dean’s breathing slowly evening out, slowing into the pattern that told Castiel that he had fallen asleep. His brows, which had been furrowed when he first lay down to sleep, had gradually smoothened out as he fell into slumber. Now he looked almost peaceful. As Castiel watched, he let out a snort, mumbled something incoherent and his lips twitched into a small smile.

He looked so human. So fragile. So defenseless. Castiel thought about Uriel’s warning. Time was running out, for both him and Dean.

Castiel… cared about Dean, about what would happen to him.

He would miss Dean’s laughter, his careless smiles, handed out so freely, as if Castiel deserved every single one of them.

He would miss the way Dean took delight in showing Castiel pieces of the human world- _his_ world- watching Castiel react to these things with so much happiness, as if Dean were the one experiencing all of these things for the first time and not Castiel.

He would miss the way Dean argued with Sam about the merits of bacon cheeseburgers over salads and all his protests that “warriors can’t survive on rabbit food!” He would miss Dean’s ridiculous obsession with pies. He would miss the way Dean hummed under his breath when he drove, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel, occasionally singing along loudly to Led Zeppelin or The Rolling Stones.

Castiel would miss all these little human things about Dean— He would miss _Dean._

Because, Castiel finally dared to admit to himself, if he did what he had to do and the mission was completed, there would be no Dean. There would only be Michael. Michael, cold and unbending and uncompromising. God’s perfect soldier. Heaven’s greatest weapon.

Castiel didn’t want Michael. He wanted _Dean._

If only there was a way Castiel could defy Raphael, save Dean…

But what choice did Castiel have? It was one thing to question his orders. It was another thing to turn against Heaven altogether. What Castiel wanted didn’t matter. All angels knew their purpose from the very moment of their creation, and it was to serve. There was no other way.

What Castiel felt… it was irrelevant. All that mattered in the end was finishing the mission. Doing his duty.

Ignoring the heavy, leaden feeling that had settled in his chest, Castiel closed his eyes and concentrated. He spread his wings, readying himself to enter Dean’s dream.

 

\---

 

Castiel found himself in a landscape of red rock and golden light. He was standing near the edge of a sheer drop. Beneath him was a magnificent sight, a canyon with a river winding through it. Lit by the glow of the setting sun, the rock formation was breathtaking, varying from a deep bronze to a vibrant orangey-red.

Dean was standing at the edge of the canyon, looking out at the sunset.

At the flutter of wings that accompanied Castiel’s arrival, he spun around, eyes widening.

“Cas,” he said, surprised. He looked around, a confused expression on his face. “Oh. Is this going to be one of _those_ dreams? Only the setting’s a bit uh- unconventional…”

“Where are we?” said Castiel. “It’s beautiful.”

Dean’s lips twitched into a small smile. He looked out at the canyon as he said, “The Grand Canyon. I’ve always wanted to go ever since I saw this documentary on it… but somehow, I never really found the time. I’ve been thinking about asking Sammy to go with me. Like a road trip, y’know? But well…” Dean shrugged, a crooked smile playing on his lips as he said wryly, “That’s a little too sappy, isn’t it? Even for a gigantic girl like him.”

There was something like wistfulness in his voice.

“I wouldn’t mind going,” Castiel found himself saying. “Maybe we could go together someday.”

It was the least he could do for Dean, after what Castiel would be putting him through.

“Really?” said Dean. His face had lit up. He looked so happy that Castiel almost couldn’t bear to look at him.

“Yes, I would love to,” Castiel said, ignoring the bitter ache in his chest.

Dean’s smile was tender and warm. “You know, I’ve been thinking a lot about what you said that night, when we were outside, looking at the stars.”

He breathed in deeply. “About doubt, and being afraid. And I know what you mean. I’ve had those thoughts too… and recently, I’ve begun thinking. Maybe… maybe I don’t need to be scared anymore… Maybe it’s time I face up to myself, what I really want—screw what Dad or anyone else thinks…”

Castiel was bewildered, unable to come up any response, but Dean didn’t seem to expect one from him. He continued on, almost as if he was speaking to himself, “You can be so dense sometimes, and then other times you say or do things that make me think you’re not really as clueless as you seem after all.”

He chuckled. “I think that’s one of the things I like most about you.”

“That’s very kind of you to say. Thank you,” said Castiel. He had no idea where Dean was heading with this.

Dean chuckled. “Y’know, there was this girl once. Her name was Cassie. Yeah. Pretty ironic, I know. I really thought we could have had something, even though she turned me down… but I’m starting to think… maybe I was looking in the wrong place…”

Dean was making absolutely no sense. There was no discernable connection whatsoever between the things he had said. It seemed that he had even more of an attention span problem in his dreams than he did when he was conscious. If Castiel didn’t stop him, Dean was probably going to keep rambling on nonsensically until he finally woke up.

“Dean,” he said, staring deep into Dean’s eyes and hating himself for every word, “You trust me, don’t you?”

“’Course I do,” Dean said, smiling.

The clear trust in his eyes made Castiel feel as though he was being stabbed through the heart with an angel blade. Fighting to keep his voice steady, he said, “Can I ask you something?”

“Anything, Cas,” Dean said.

Steeling himself, Castiel said, “Have you ever felt as if there’s a part of you that’s missing? A part that you can’t be truly whole without?”

“Yes.” Dean was gazing at Castiel strangely, his green eyes soft with some undecipherable emotion. His words were barely above a whisper, like a prayer, or perhaps a confession, “I know what you mean.”

“Do you know where that missing piece of you is?”

“I do,” Dean said, in that same quietly reverent tone. His gaze did not waver from Castiel’s for a second.

This was it. This was the moment of truth. The moment that Castiel had spent all these months working towards. The moment he fulfilled his duty. He should be happy, triumphant… but all Castiel could think about was how he was betraying Dean.

Castiel took a deep breath. He could not keep the shakiness out of his voice as he said, “Can you tell me where it is?”

Dean smiled, radiant. “Of course. It’s right here in front of me,” he said, and then he leaned in.

At the first press of Dean’s lips to his, Castiel’s mind blanked. Dean’s fingers were threaded through his hair, pushing Castiel closer towards him. He kissed Castiel gently, sweetly, like an invitation. Almost unconsciously, Castiel’s lips parted and Dean took the opportunity to deepen the kiss.

_Dean is kissing me_ , he thought numbly. Then it really registered.

Dean was KISSING him.

Castiel’s wings snapped out.

“Woah!” said Dean, his eyes widening in surprise as he stared at Castiel’s wings. “That’s new.” His lips twitched into a grin. “I think I kinda like it.”

Castiel flung himself out of Dean’s dream with one mighty flap of his wings. His mind was in a wild panic.

Nothing was making sense.

He flew away from the motel, not caring where he went- as long as it was away from Dean.

Landing heavily, he stumbled and fell to the ground. He was alone on a pristine beach of fine, pearly white sand. Distantly, he could hear the sound of waves lapping against the shore.

He touched trembling fingers to his lips. He could almost feel the lingering warmth on them.

Dean had _kissed_ him.

Castiel’s wings trembled, even as he fought to keep them under control. He thought of the soft look in Dean’s eyes as he had spoken.

_It’s right here in front of me_ , he had said.

What did he mean?

The answer was right there, Castiel knew. It was within easy reach, if Castiel were only brave enough to reach out and grasp it. But acknowledging it would mean abandoning the last pretense that everything about Castiel’s world had not just been shaken to its very foundations.

Unbidden, Castiel thought of the way Dean had smiled, tender and kind, as he gave the trench coat to Castiel. The trench coat he had painstakingly hunted down, all because he thought that it would please Castiel.

He thought of all the numerous other small kindnesses Dean had showed him- a soft pat on the shoulder, a warm smile at the end of a hard day, a children’s meal that he thought would make Castiel happy—

Castiel had deliberately deceived Dean from the very first day he met him. The only reason why he had befriended Dean was for ulterior motives— to achieve a goal that would result in Dean’s destruction.

And yet… in Dean’s dreams, the truest reflection of his deepest thoughts and desires, Dean had said that Castiel was the missing piece of himself. That Castiel was what completed him. Dean had looked at Castiel as though he was something infinitely precious and leaned in to kiss him, slow and tender.

Something twisted painfully in Castiel’s chest.

His fingers dug into the sand, hard enough to pierce the skin and draw blood. Castiel had been constantly tamping down on his grace, yet another measure to deceive Dean, to appear more human. Now he stomped down on it even further, allowing the pain to course through him. His breaths were heavy, threatening to catch in his chest.

_Castiel._

Castiel froze, startled. The voice had not come from outside, but from within. Abruptly, he was reminded that he was not the sole occupant of this body. He had almost forgotten about Jimmy Novak’s soul, buried for so long beneath the sheer power of Castiel’s grace.

Castiel had deliberately kept Jimmy’s soul in a state of dormancy, as was standard practice for most angels taking a vessel. It was a kindness to the human hosts. This way, they would not be helpless prisoners within their own bodies, watching as a foreign entity controlled their every action. Admittedly it also made things very much simpler, not having to deal with the true owner of the body.

It appeared that Castiel had been so shaken by emotion that he had allowed the barrier between them to slip. How much of Castiel’s lapse- his shameful weakness- had Jimmy been allowed to witness?

Shame burning in him, Castiel hurriedly reached out to correct his mistake—

_Dean Winchester_. _You love him_.

Castiel stopped short.

_I caught…well, glimpses, I guess. Snowflakes... starlight… you watching him as he slept…_

Jimmy Novak paused.

_That’s pretty creepy, by the way. Kinda romantic I guess? But in a really creepy sort of way._

Castiel’s earlier shame returned, increased tenfold. He reached out to shove Jimmy back down—

_Wait!_ Jimmy was frantic. Castiel could feel the emotion leaking through the weakened barrier between them. _Look. You can’t talk to any of the other angels about this, can you? And I’m the only human you can speak to about all this without breaking your cover._

Castiel was forced to admit that Jimmy had a point.

_You may continue_ , Castiel told him.

He felt Jimmy’s relief.

_Anyway, as I was saying… it seems pretty obvious to me that you love Dean Winchester. I mean, you were considering betraying your boss for him. Well, you chickened out in the end obviously. Then Dean kissed you. And now you’re hiding on a beach somewhere in Puerto Rico, freaking out and having a massive emotional meltdown. But hey, nobody’s perfect, right? Even angels of the Lord._

Castiel remained silent. It would have been pointless to offer up a denial. The leakage through the barrier between Castiel and Jimmy went both ways. Castiel could feel all of Jimmy’s thoughts and emotions—and the converse was correspondingly true.

_You know, I kinda hated you for a long time. You took me away from my life… from my family. And for what? Using my body to pal around with the Brothers Grimm- Midwest America Version. Drinking beer and having silly snowball fights. This isn’t what I signed up for. I thought you needed me for some grand purpose. That God needed me, like you told me._

Jimmy’s frustration was obvious even without the emotional leak-through from the lowered barrier between angel and human host.

_I thought we would be out there saving the world. Not spending all day riding around in some ancient muscle car with the flannel bros and eating shitty diner food. It kinda felt like I was_ your _car and you were just taking me out for a joy ride._

Castiel felt shame rising in him. Jimmy was right, of course. This wasn’t _his_ body, not truly. He had become so used to thinking of it of his own, but in reality, it was no more than a vessel. He was nothing but an extra passenger, albeit one holding all the power and control.

_Not to mention,_ Jimmy said, and there was something incredibly sardonic about the tone of his mental voice, _it’s_ my _eyeballs you’ve been using to check out Dean Winchester’s ass._

Castiel spluttered, his wings unconsciously flaring in shock before he was able, with a great effort of will, to get them back under control.

Jimmy continued on, tone solemn, though Castiel sensed his brief flicker of amusement at Castiel’s reaction.

_But… well… there’s something I realized. You’re trying, Castiel. You’re trying so hard to do what’s right._

_I can’t even really blame you for everything you did. Taking over my body, tearing me from my family without even thinking about what that meant for me and for them? That’s not something any of your fellow angels would have considered either._

_You’re not human, you don’t think like us. You don’t truly understand things like kindness or mercy or love. They’re more like abstract concepts to you. All you’ve ever known is duty and mindless, slavish obedience. And yet… you began to question._

_I know you, Castiel, just as you know me. And I know what you’re beginning to think. That maybe you’d risk going against Heaven itself if it meant saving Dean Winchester. Even if it goes against everything you ever believed in, everything you thought was right and just, you’d do it. For him._

_And I know what that feels like. How it feels to love someone so much that your entire world revolves around them. You’d do anything if it meant that they could be safe. That they could be happy… And it frightens you. The things you’d do to protect them._

_That’s how I feel, every day, with Amelia and Claire. And it’s hard to hate you, Castiel, knowing all of that. Seems to me- angels can be pretty human after all._

Castiel felt Jimmy’s wry amusement as he gave the mental equivalent of a laugh.

_I’m sorry,_ Castiel said. He knew Jimmy could sense his guilt and apology through the mental connection between them, but he wanted to say it anyway.

_It’s okay, Castiel._ Jimmy gave him the mental equivalent of a rueful shrug. _I’m not saying I’m completely fine with you taking my entire life away from me. Or that I don’t wish that you’d just release me now and let me return to my family. I’m still human. I’m not that selfless…._

_But I understand why you can’t let me go. You need to protect Dean. I would do the exact same thing for Amelia if I was in your position. Just- just promise me one thing? After all this, after you save Dean, you’ll make sure I get back to my family, right? You’ll let me go? As soon as you can._

Castiel could sense Jimmy’s longing, his love for his wife and daughter. His earnest hope that Castiel would do the right thing and let him see them again, along with his fear that Castiel would not. And Castiel knew how much Jimmy hated having to ask this of him, knowing that if Castiel granted him his request and gave him his freedom, Castiel would never be able to see Dean again… not in this form at least.

Castiel hesitated, wavering, a shamefully selfish impulse rising in him. It would be so easy for him to say no, to just squash Jimmy back down. Once he might even have done so without feeling a shred of guilt. After all, Jimmy was just a human and Castiel an angel. He was the one with all the power here. But now he knew there was really only one right thing to do.

_I promise_ , he said, and he felt an overwhelming surge of gratitude and happiness from Jimmy.

_You’re a good man, Castiel,_ Jimmy said, _Well, angel. I know that you’ll do the right thing in the end._

He sent a wave of warm affection over to Castiel through their mental connection. Yet even that could not quite wash away the painful regret Castiel felt at acceding to Jimmy’s request.

_Oh and you really should tell Dean the truth. I know you’ve been feeling guilty about lying to him. And it’ll make things much easier if you’re going to be hiding him away from the other angels. Honesty’s the best policy. Really._

_Anyway. That’s it. That’s all I had to say. You can put me back to sleep now. Not that Dean isn’t really nice and all, but I’d much rather not know how it feels to have his tongue exploring the insides of my mouth, if that’s okay with you._

Castiel felt an extremely human sense of mortification. _I will do my best to ensure there are no further slippages_ , he told Jimmy.

_Thanks. And good luck_ , said Jimmy. Then he fell silent as Castiel gently put him back under.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

Tell Dean the truth. Jimmy made it sound so easy. How exactly was Castiel supposed to tell Dean the truth?

What was he going to say? Dean, I have been lying to you since the day you first met me. Do not be alarmed, but I am not human. I am actually an angel, a supernatural creature, much like the other supernatural creatures that we hunt down and kill on a near daily basis.

Most of the iterations of what Castiel could say also included a version of “Dean, please put that knife down.”

Castiel watched Dean busy himself around the motel room, packing up his weapons and ensuring that they had all the necessary supplies for the day. Sam was out for his morning run. He wouldn’t be back for another half an hour at the very least.

It was the perfect time for Castiel to get Dean alone.

Castiel’s borrowed human heart was pounding in his chest. He stepped forward.

“Dean,” he said, “Can we talk?”

Dean looked up, surprised. “Oh. Is everything okay, Cas?”

He sounded worried.

Castiel took a deep breath. “Dean, there’s something I have to confess to you…”

Dean stared at him. There was some strange emotion shining in his eyes—something almost like… hope?

Castiel tried his best to continue before his courage failed him. “I- ” he began.

Dean’s phone started ringing.

Dean glanced at his jacket pocket, flustered. He dug out his phone. For a moment, he stared at it, frustration written clearly on his face. He looked almost as if he was considering not picking up the call, but then he grimaced.

Apologetically, he said, “Sorry, Cas. It’s the County Sheriff’s Office. I gotta take this.”

He flipped open his phone, putting it to his ear. “Agent Young. Yep.”

Dean listened, making soft ‘mmm-hmmm’ noises at points. “Alright, thanks for letting me know. You have a good day too, Detective.”

When Dean turned back to face Castiel, his eyes were hard. “Ten more people are dead… in one night. We gotta go, Cas.”

Castiel’s carefully prepared confession died in his throat. He listened numbly as Dean called Sam up and informed him of the situation.

“I’ve got a real bad feeling about this thing, Sammy,” Dean said, “Whatever it is, it’s big leagues, and it ain’t screwing around. The moment we get to that warehouse, I bet you it’s gonna be a right shitstorm of things going tits up.”

Dean, as it turned out, was entirely right.

 

\---

 

Castiel had become so used to being far more powerful than all the opponents he faced. He was an angel. Vampires, restless spirits, shapeshifters, demons? They were all nothing to him. And no angels had walked the earth in centuries. No one truly believed in them except for the fervently religious. Nobody should have known an angel’s weaknesses. Nobody should have been prepared for Castiel.

So how was it that Castiel stood trapped in a circle of holy fire as demons, black-eyed and smirking, surrounded Sam and Dean Winchester?

Dean was limping. His right ankle was twisted and he probably had more than one broken rib from when he had been telekinetically flung around by the demons. Sam was in relatively better condition, though he was bleeding heavily from a deep gash on his forehead.

“Cas!” Dean shouted, his voice strained. “Why the fuck are you just standing there? Get out here and help us!”

“Break the circle!” Castiel shouted. “The circle of fire! You have to break it!”

“What do you mean break the circle? The fire’s not that high. Just fucking jump over it—”

A demon made a careless gesture with her hand and Dean went flying, crashing into a wall with a cry of pain. Castiel could not help but jerk forward, a growl rising in his throat.

“My, oh my. What do we have here?” the demon said. There was an ugly smirk on her lips. She was in the body of a young woman with dark wavy hair that fell in long and loose curls around her shoulders. She might even have been described as beautiful, if not for the fact that Castiel could see the demon’s true face roiling behind the girl’s, horrifying in its monstrousness.

“Sam and Dean Winchester.” She laughed. “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you again, I have to say. After everything you put me through, sending me back to Hell… Boy am I gonna enjoy making you _suffer._ ”

“Meg?” Sam burst out.

Meg chuckled. “Hello Sam. Did you miss me? I sure did miss you. We’re going to have so much _fun_ together. Think I’ll take you for a spin- have a little ride in those bones of yours. Teach you a little about how it feels.”

She smiled at Sam, eyes bright with cruel promise.

“Being trapped and helpless… screaming inside your head as you’re stuck in a prison made of bone and flesh and blood and fear. Oh, what I’m gonna do to you… it’s not Hell, not really. But I can assure you- it’ll be close enough.”

Her gaze turned upon Dean.

“As for your brother…” Meg smirked, slow and careless. She sauntered, hips swaying, to where Dean was pinned against the wall, helpless. She tipped his chin up, fingers lightly stroking his skin. Castiel felt fury surge in him.

“The other demons always said there was something special about you. I thought—What? Dean Winchester? That stupid, loudmouthed hunter? There’s nothing _special_ about him. Except maybe the sheer, staggering amount of his daddy issues. But then… a little birdy came along and told us something very _interesting_.”

Meg’s fingernails dug into Dean’s skin, drawing blood as Dean grunted in pain. “Father’s going to be so happy when I bring you in. Maybe if I’m lucky, he’ll even let me kill you after we get all of the secrets out of your head. But I doubt that. Most likely your brother will want to do it himself.” She smiled darkly. “And after everything you’ve put him through, who could deny him his chance at revenge?”

“Are you insane? Sam’s not gonna kill me, you bitch,” Dean spat.

“That’s _rude_ ,” said Meg. “Is that any way to treat a lady? You really should show women more respect.”

She flicked her hand and another one of Dean’s ribs broke with a loud crack. Dean curled in on himself, stifling a cry of pain. He was panting hard, gritting his teeth against the agony.

Castiel was _utterly furious_. If he had not been trapped and powerless, the force of his rage would have leveled the entire warehouse they were in. He wanted nothing more than to smite the demon and all her allies as they screamed for mercy.

“Call me that again and I’ll rip your tongue out. Anyway, I’m not talking about dear little Sammy here, cute as he is. I’m talking about your _other_ brother.” Meg threw Dean a sidelong look and smirked, sly and knowing. “The one in the Cage.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Dean’s face was scrunched up in a look of deep incomprehension coupled with rage.

Meg laughed. “Oh, you don’t remember, do you? That’s a pity. But I’m sure we’ll have ways to jog your memory back in the Pit, _Michael_. We’ve been waiting so long to get our hands on something like you. A flesh and blood angel, that you can question, torture, that _bleeds_.”

She pressed her nails in harder, making Dean jerk and hiss in pain. A thin trickle of blood flowed down Dean’s neck.

“And look what came along. Not just any winged dick, but the biggest winged dick of them all.” Meg laughed in delight. “It’s better than winning the Super Bowl. Oh, we are gonna have such _fun_ with you, Dean-O.”

“What the fuck are you going on about?” Dean cried, voice hoarse with pain and incredulous anger, “I’m not an _angel_. There’s no such thing as angels.”

“Really?” said Meg, smirking, “Why don’t we ask your little boyfriend over there? He should know all about being an angel. Hey Clarence…” She turned around, but in the same instant, Sam lunged for his gun and took aim.

His shotgun boomed. The ceiling above Castiel, already weakened from the passage of years, cracked with a great groaning noise. Chunks of debris came tumbling down, falling over the line of holy fire, breaking the flames. Breaking the circle.

In the space between one breath and the next, Castiel disappeared.

He reappeared next to Meg. She screamed as he grabbed her roughly by the face and poured his grace into her, burning her from the inside out. After the last of the brilliant light had faded, her vessel fell to the ground, eyes smoking faintly.

The other demons were running away. Wise choice. They stood no chance against an angel.

Most of them had already escaped their hosts, but Castiel caught them easily. Reaching out with his grace, he forced the plumes of roiling black smoke into the host bodies, trapping them. Then it was the simplest of things to touch his fingers to the demons’ foreheads and smite them out of existence.

It was over in less than a minute. All the demons had either fled or been destroyed. Castiel stood alone in the middle of the carnage, bodies with burnt out eyes lying all around him.

Sam was staring at him in wide-eyed disbelief that was tinged with a slight hint of fear. His shotgun hung limply in his hands.

Dean was a different matter. As furious as he had been with Meg before, it was nothing compared to the anger on his face now. His hands were shaking, but he still held the shotgun steady as he aimed it at Castiel’s chest.

“What the hell are you?”

“Dean,” said Castiel, but Dean just spoke right over him. His voice was heavy with accusation, “You’re not human.”

“No, I’m not,” Castiel admitted.

“Then what are you?”

“I am an angel of the Lord.”

“Bullshit,” Dean spat, eyes hard.

Castiel spread his wings, allowing their shadows to show in the flickering lights of the warehouse.

“The demon wasn’t lying,” he stated simply.

Sam was staring at Castiel in shock tinged with awe. Dean’s face was eerily blank, his eyes as cold as ice.

Castiel stepped forward, and Dean’s fingers tightened on his shotgun.

“Let me heal you,” Castiel said. “You and Sam have been very badly injured.”

Castiel reached towards Dean and Sam. He tried to ignore the ache that bloomed in his chest at the way Dean flinched away from him. But Dean didn’t shoot him as Castiel put two fingers to his and Sam’s foreheads. Their wounds disappeared completely as Castiel applied his grace.

“You’re an angel,” Sam said. There was something almost worshipful about his gaze. It was slightly unnerving. “You’re really an angel.”

“Yes, I am,” said Castiel.

“You son of a bitch.” Dean’s eyes were dark with fury, his voice cold. “I _trusted_ you. And here you were, lying to us all along. Pretending to be our friend. Playing me like a patsy.”

“I’m sorry, Dean,” Castiel said, but his apology felt weak and useless in the face of Dean’s wrath.

“I should have known.” Dean glared at him, lips curled in disgust. “Controlling family? Missing brother? That little sob story of yours? You were just trying to play on my sympathies, weasel your way into my trust. Well, bravo. Good for you. You had me completely fooled. Give yourself a nice, big pat on the back for that.”

For all of Dean’s congratulatory words, his tone was as cold as ice. The clear hatred in his eyes hurt more than any angel blade ever could.

“You claim to be an angel, and maybe that’s even true. But you’re just the same as all the other monsters out there.”

Castiel felt an almost physical ache in his chest at Dean’s words. He stared at Dean, stricken.

Sam was looking between Dean and Castiel, a worried frown on his face. “Dean,” he said.

“Don’t you dare defend him, Sammy,” Dean snapped curtly, and the clear anger in his tone made Sam back down, cowed.

To Castiel, he said, “I don’t know why you pretended to be our friend, and I don’t care. I don’t ever want to see you again. Whatever you are, demon or angel or whatever other supernatural piece of shit—I swear to you. I _will_ find out how to kill you. The only reason I’m letting you go now is because for some reason, you decided to save our lives. But if you ever dare to show your face to me again, I promise you, _I WILL end you_.”

Castiel reached out to him, almost involuntarily. He was unable to keep the tremor out of his voice, “Dean, please, I had no choice…”

“GET OUT!” Dean shouted, “Get out, you fucking _MONSTER_ —”

His eyes burned with hate and it was more than Castiel could bear.

Castiel spread his wings and flung himself away from the warehouse. He fell, tumbling uncontrollably through the ether, but he didn’t care where he went.

Dean’s words echoed over and over in his mind.

You fucking _monster_.

 

\---

 

Dean may not want Castiel around anymore, but it was too dangerous for Castiel to leave him alone. Some of the demons had gotten away, and they’d surely report back to whoever sent them about what had transpired. Also, there was the matter of Meg’s informant to consider.

Somebody had told the demons about Castiel’s mission. About Michael. There was a traitor in their ranks. An angel in league with Lucifer and his demons. The thought was troubling.

Dean wasn’t safe, and so Castiel could not do as Dean wanted and stay away.

Instead, he followed the Winchesters, a silent and invisible shadow. It was the coward’s route out, Castiel knew, but he did not have the strength to face Dean again and see the naked hatred in his eyes.

The brothers had since returned to the motel. Dean was in a dark mood, glaring angrily at everything. He snapped at his brother whenever Sam tried to get him to talk about Castiel, and eventually Sam had given him a look heavy with disappointment and hurt, and told Dean that he would be heading out to get them dinner.

“I know you’re there,” Dean said suddenly.

Castiel jerked up. Dean was staring straight at him.

“Yeah, I can feel you, you dirty _coward_. That was you, wasn’t it? All those strange feelings I was having before I met you at the vampires’ nest. And that fucking weird dream I had about my mom. I don’t remember much of it. Maybe you mind-whammied me or something.

“But I do remember this much—you’re a spineless, cowardly piece of shit, Castiel. All you do is hide behind the appearance of something you’re not. The Cas I thought I knew was a good man, a good hunter. I was proud to call him family. But you? I’d rather stab myself in the face than trust you again. I’ll never make that mistake again. _You’re_ a mistake, Castiel,” Dean spat the words forcefully, venom in his voice, “and I wish I had never even met you.”

Castiel struggled not to let the words affect him, but he could feel his composure cracking. Dean’s cruel words were like a knife, working back open a wound that was still fresh and had barely stopped bleeding.

“I can feel you- I know you’re still here. You know, I could go on _all day_. Maybe you wanna hear more about how much of a monster you are? You seemed to like that last time. Or maybe you don’t care. I mean, monsters don’t really have any _feelings_ , do they? So would it hurt if I told you how much I _hate you_ , Castiel?”

Castiel shuddered, his defenses crumbling. He stepped backwards, almost involuntarily, feeling like he had been punched in the chest. Something hot was prickling at his eyes.

“Yeah, go on ahead and run, you fucking coward. It’s the only thing you’re good at.”

Castiel did what Dean said. He ran.

 

\---

 

From then on, Castiel only watched the Winchesters from afar. It made protecting Dean so much harder, but Dean was right, Castiel was too much of a coward to face him.

Instead he placed invisible Enochian sigils for concealment and protection around the motels where the brothers stayed in and on Dean’s beloved car. The sigils would keep the Winchesters safe from demons and most other supernatural creatures where Castiel could not do so himself.

Several times, he thought of calling Balthazar and Anna down to earth to ask for their advice. In fact, he almost did it. But then he remembered the traitor in their midst. He couldn’t trust anyone, not even Balthazar and Anna, until he found out who had betrayed them to the demons.

Dean and Sam continued hunting, Dean throwing himself into the hunts with ferocious intensity and reckless abandon. The way Sam looked at Dean was alternatively disappointed and concerned. The brothers’ relationship had become strained, especially when Sam kept trying to suggest that Dean give Castiel a chance to explain himself. Dean would storm off in a rage, leaving Sam sad and frustrated, alone in the motel room.

The full extent of how much less Dean drank after Castiel joined the Winchester’s company had not quite hit Castiel until Dean started doing it again, going to bars and downing glass after glass like there was no tomorrow. He had even gone back to sleeping with a different woman every night. It was as though he had regressed back to the state in which Castiel had first found him—a wounded, broken man trying to ease his pain by drowning his sorrows in alcohol and sex. It hurt something deep inside Castiel to see him behaving like this.

It had gotten to the point that Sam, voice laden with pity and frustration, told Dean, “I don’t know what you’re trying to prove, Dean, but all I know is that it isn’t working. And drinking yourself into a stupor every night isn’t going to solve anything—”

“Oh yeah?” said Dean, “The way I see it? Alcohol solves everything.”

Seeing the Winchesters both so miserable and knowing that it was entirely his fault… it was unbearable. It was so hard to watch Dean destroying himself, knowing that Castiel had been the one responsible for everything. Castiel wanted so much to protect Dean—but all he did was make it worse.

And so for the first time since he started this mission, Castiel abandoned his post and left the side of the Winchesters.

After his fifth liquor store, Castiel began to see why Dean liked drinking so much. Perhaps Dean had a point about alcohol making everything better after all.

He was on his eighth liquor store when the phone that Dean had given to him started to ring. It kept ringing and ringing incessantly. However, Castiel was in the middle of raiding the vodka section, and he thought that maybe he was starting to feel the beginnings of a pleasant sort of buzz, so he ignored it.

Wobbling, Castiel grabbed a few bottles of vodka and settled down on the floor to drink them. He was on his twelfth bottle when he heard the prayer, strong enough that the words came through despite all of Castiel’s attempts to block it.

_Cas_? _Uh…I mean… Castiel, Angel of Thursday. I pray to you to… uh…uh… Shit, I’m probably doing this all wrong. Can you even hear this?_

Castiel’s alcohol-induced daze started to clear. That voice sounded awfully familiar. Almost like… Dean?

_I mean, Sammy said you should be able to hear prayers ‘cause you’re an angel… and you’re not answering your phone…so uh…here goes nothing? Could you, uh… could you come to me? We need to talk_. _So uh, flap your way here or whatever if you hear this. Um. Yeah.... Amen?_

This was perhaps one of the most painfully awkward prayers Castiel had ever received in all his millennia of existence, but Castiel couldn’t deny that it did get the message across.

Perhaps if Castiel had been more sober, he’d have thought twice about answering Dean’s prayer. After all, Dean had threatened to kill him if Castiel ever showed his face around him again. But as it was, Castiel barely hesitated before he was wobbling to his feet.

He focused on his sense of Dean Winchester and allowed it to guide his wings. In an instant, he had appeared by Dean’s side.

Dean was leaning against the side of the Impala, which was parked on the dirt by the side of an empty highway, next to a vast open field. The soft glow of the moon and stars provided the only illumination other than the occasional headlights of a passing car. Dean’s head was bowed.

At the flutter of wings that accompanied Castiel’s arrival, he looked up, startled. There was a look of surprise on his face, as though he hadn’t expected his prayer to work after all or for Castiel to show up.

Under the silver glow of the moonlight, Dean’s face looked years younger. There was something far more vulnerable and open about him than usual.

They stared at each other for a while before Castiel finally broke the silence.

“Hello, Dean,” he said.

“Hey Cas,” Dean said. His gaze was wary, but there was no anger in his expression.

“You prayed to me.”

Dean swallowed, and Castiel’s gaze was drawn to the long line of his throat as his Adam’s apple bobbed.

“So I did,” he said softly.

They fell into silence again.

“Are you still going to kill me?” Castiel said, “You said you would, if you ever saw me again.”

“Not unless you give me reason to,” Dean said. He ran a hand through his short hair, chuckling wearily. “Not that I’d be able to kill you even if I tried, anyway. From what the lore says, you guys are next to indestructible.”

“There are several ways to kill an angel,” Castiel said, “Holy oil that’s lit on fire is one. If you look for it, there might still be some left in that warehouse where the demons ambushed us. An angel blade is another. Should you manage to get your hands on one, stabbing me through the heart with it would suffice.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Dean asked. He seemed strangely distressed, eyes wide and incredulous. “You’re telling me how to kill you? Just like that?”

Castiel didn’t know how to answer that. He shrugged and looked away.

“I can’t make any sense of you, Cas,” Dean said.

His expression was troubled, eyes shadowed. “You lied to us about yourself to gain our trust, but then all you do is hang around with us and help us save people. Hell, you saved our friggin’ lives so many times. And even after I screamed at you and said all those horrible things to hurt you and drive you away, you still came when I prayed to you.”

Dean sighed. Softly, he said, “You don’t behave at all like I expected you to. You’re not human, but sometimes you act so much like one.”

“I thought I was very bad at pretending to be human,” Castiel said.

“Yeah, you’re freaking terrible at some parts of it. Like pop culture references and putting on a tie and flipping your badge the right way up,” Dean said, “But other times, you make me wonder if you aren’t really human after all.” He looked away, expression pensive and a little nostalgic.

“You were so happy when I gave you that damned coat.” His eyes flickered to the trench coat Castiel was wearing. “As if nobody had ever given you a proper present before. You know… I was gonna toss your duffel bag, the one I gave you to keep all your stuff in. I was so mad. I wanted to throw the whole thing away, get rid of all traces of you.”

Castiel looked away, sadness rising in him, even though Dean’s voice was matter-of-fact and bore no traces of anger.

“I was about to do it, but then, just as I about to toss it into the trash, something came tumbling out. It was that stupid train toy from the Happy Meal I bought you. I had no idea you even kept it. I mean, it was just some silly toy. I thought you’d left it behind or thrown it away. But you were carrying it with you for all those months. Why did you do that?”

Castiel looked away, suddenly feeling exposed under Dean’s scrutinizing gaze. “I don’t know,” he said softly. It was a lie. Castiel did know. It was part of the same reason why Dean had kissed him in that dream.

Dean gave him a look that was strangely piercing. “Cas, that’s a lie, and I think you know that.”

He moved closer, staring deep into Castiel’s eyes. “No more lies. I don’t want any more lies.”

He took a deep breath. “Do you know why I was so mad when I found out about the truth? The thing is- maybe I was overreacting, like Sam said I was. But also, it hurt me more than it ever hurt Sam. Sure, you lied to Sam too. You betrayed his trust. But Sam- Sam bounced back pretty easily, and not just ‘cause he’s got some weird hero-worship complex going on now that he’s found out you’re an angel.”

Dean’s face was solemn. His voice was heavy with emotion as he said, “I’ll explain something to you, Cas. For us humans- the more important something- someone is to us- the angrier we get when it’s taken away. You were Sam’s best friend, yeah. But you were only ever his friend.”

Dean was looking at him with that same soft look that he had worn when he had leaned in to kiss Castiel in the dream, but this time it was tinged with sadness and pain.

“It was… different for me. I… I cared about you, Cas. You being there took away the pain of Dad’s death— at least a little. When I was with you, I could forget about what happened… I could forget what a huge fuck-up I was.

“I liked being with you, Cas. I liked the person that I was when I was with you. You made me feel like I was actually good, like I was actually worth a damn. It felt like a godsend—like for the first time in my entire life, someone up there had decided that I deserved something good for myself…” Dean trailed off, looking away.

His next words were much softer, barely above a whisper, “I guess I should have learned my lesson. Good things don’t happen… at least not in my experience.”

Castiel swallowed against the lump that had formed in his throat. “Dean, that is not true.”

Dean smiled, bittersweet. “Is it?”

He looked at Castiel, green eyes glinting in the starlight, and Castiel was suddenly overcome with an overwhelming surge of emotion for Dean, for all the hurts life had put him through, that he could honestly believe that he didn’t deserve anything good when in fact he deserved _everything_ —and he was closing the distance between them, pulling Dean in against his chest.

Their lips met.

Dean let out a gasp, almost a sob, before melting into the kiss.

There was nothing of the slow tenderness of their kiss in the dream. Dean dove right in, kissing Castiel like a man drowning who had finally found air. It was fierce and passionate and desperate, Dean kissing Castiel as if he was afraid that Castiel would disappear any moment. It was a heady feeling, filling Castiel up with so much warmth and pleasure that he thought he could burst. He kissed Dean back just as fiercely, hands unconsciously tightening around Dean’s waist.

When they finally broke apart, Dean was breathing heavily. He did not make any move to pull away from Castiel’s embrace. Instead he buried his face into the crook of Castiel’s neck. Castiel could feel Dean’s warm breath huffing against his skin.

“I missed you so much,” Dean whispered. “I was so mad, and I wanted so badly to hate you… but all I could think of was how much I missed you.”

Dean looked up at him, green eyes warm and wistful. “I’m so tired, Cas. Tired of fighting.”

He sighed deeply.

“Don’t think this means you’re off the hook. Maybe you’re a surprisingly good kisser for such a nerdy looking little angel, but that doesn’t excuse you for lying to me. You’re gonna tell me everything, and I mean _everything_.”

Dean’s gaze was stern.

Castiel nodded, face solemn. “I will.”

“But for tonight…” Dean took Castiel’s hand, threading his fingers through Castiel’s. “Tonight, I’d just like to watch the stars.”

He gazed at Castiel through lowered lashes, strangely shy. “Will you stay with me?”

“Always,” Castiel said, and Dean smiled—that warm, tender smile that made Castiel want to enfold Dean in his wings, keep Dean safe from the all the hurts of the world forever.

Hand in hand, they sat on the hood of the Impala, gazing up at the stars, until Dean finally began to nod off. He fell asleep, head pillowed on Castiel’s shoulder.

Castiel carefully maneuvered Dean so that Dean would fall into his arms. For some reason, he felt a strange reluctance to wake Dean up, even for the short span of time it’d take for Dean to get inside the car.

Instead he carried Dean to the car. Dean must have been extremely exhausted, because even when Castiel lifted Dean up into his arms, Dean did no more than rouse briefly and mumble something before snuffling and pressing his face into Castiel’s chest.

Castiel gently laid him down on the backseat of the Impala, and Dean snorted, frowning, probably protesting the loss of Castiel’s warmth.

After a moment, Castiel took off the trench coat that Dean had given him and draped it over Dean like a blanket.

Smiling, Castiel let Dean sleep. There would be answers and revelations tomorrow, the thorny issues of Michael and Heaven, and danger still lurked at every corner, but for tonight, Castiel could forget all of that.

He stood next to the Impala, a silent sentinel lit only by the moon and the stars, and he took comfort in the knowledge that Dean was safe and warm beside him.


	8. Chapter 8

**Part III- _Not About Angels_**

**Chapter 8**

If Sam noticed anything of the new closeness between Castiel and Dean, he did not remark upon it.

“Welcome back, you two,” he told Dean and Castiel as they walked into the motel room. There was a small, knowing smile on his face, but beyond that he made no show of having noticed that anything was at all different. “I’m glad you guys made up. I don’t think I could have put up with Dean’s pining for one more day.”

“Screw you, bitch,” Dean said, but he was smiling. “You’re the one who wouldn’t shut up about Cas.”

He put on an exaggeratedly high and breathless voice, “Ooh, Cas is an _angel_ , Dean. That’s so _cool_! Do you realize- this means we hung out with a _real life angel_! Angels are _real_ , Dean! I’m going to shit my pants in joy! Excuse me while I have a fit of religious ecstasy. Can you _please_ go get him back? I miss him _soooo much_.”

“I don’t sound anything like that, you ass,” Sam said, but Castiel noticed that his cheeks had a little more color in them than usual.

This must be the ‘weird hero-worship complex’ that Dean had mentioned. It made Castiel feel pretty awkward- Sam was his _friend,_ not some common devotee- but it was also rather endearing, not to mention a nice boost to the ego.

“Anyway, I’m really glad you’re back, Cas,” Sam said, “And not ‘cause you’re an angel. You’re my friend, and yeah, I did miss you.” Sam smiled and stepped forward to grab Castiel into a hug.

Castiel froze for half a second, but then he remembered that he was supposed to hug back. “I missed you too, Sam,” he said. “And I am glad to be back.”

“Awww,” said Dean, “You guys are so _sweet_. It’s adorable. My teeth are rotting off just from looking at you.”

“Piss off, Dean,” Sam said, without heat. He released Castiel from the hug.

“So. Not that this isn’t really heartwarming and all, but I think you still owe us an explanation, Cas.” Dean gave Castiel a pointed look. “Maybe you can start with why the psycho demon chick seemed to think I was an angel too.”

Castiel looked from Dean to Sam. The brothers were both looking at him with uncannily similar expectant gazes.

This was going to be somewhat difficult to explain.

“Perhaps I should start from the beginning…” Castiel said, and then he trailed off.

He had just remembered something from the television program called ‘Dr Sexy M.D.” that Dean had made him watch. The humans in that show had an alarming tendency to lose consciousness immediately upon receiving shocking news. It was unclear whether a television drama about a medical practitioner in cowboy boots was a good basis for reality, but Castiel did not want to take the risk.

“You might want to sit down for this,” he said.

 

\---

 

By the time Castiel had finished his story, Dean had not fainted. Neither had Sam.

Instead they were both staring at Castiel as if he had grown an extra head.

Then Dean said, “Is this some kind of joke?”

Castiel gave him a bewildered look. “Why would I joke about this? I assure you, I am telling the truth.”

“Dean is the archangel Michael?” Sam said. “ _Dean_?” His eyebrows were raised. “We’re talking about my brother, Dean Winchester, right? I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Cas… but ninety percent of Dean’s personality consists of doing things that are basically the equivalent of giving God the finger.”

“I’d be insulted… if that wasn’t completely true,” Dean said. “Sam’s right. This is ridiculous. There’s no way I’m some kind of angel- much less some head honcho angel- commander of the heavenly host or whatever—”

“I am not lying,” Castiel insisted.

“Look, I’m telling you. You’re got the wrong guy. I mean. Look at me.” Dean waved a hand at himself. “I drink too much. I fool around. I lie and I cheat and I steal. I’ve practically committed every sin in the book. I’m a walking example of how _not_ to behave if you wanna get into Heaven. I’m a sinner. I’m not, I’m not g-” Dean looked as though he wanted to say something more, but at the last moment, his gaze flickered over to Sam, and he cut himself off.

Expression downcast and voice quiet, Dean said, “I’m not the guy you’re looking for. It’s not me. There’s been a mistake.”

Even though Dean hadn’t said the words, Castiel knew what Dean had meant to say before he stopped himself, fearful of Sam overhearing. _I’m not good enough._

Suddenly, Castiel was reminded of his own disparaging words about Dean. The way he had so carelessly dismissed Dean, assumed that he was nothing more than his flaws. Suddenly, he was filled with an indignant anger, both at himself and for whatever it was that made Dean put himself down so easily.

With fierceness that surprised even himself, Castiel said, “You’re wrong, Dean. Yes, you’ve made mistakes. Yes, you are flawed. But those things don’t define you.”

Dean stared at him, eyes wide and stunned.

“You embody all that was best in Michael. You have his courage, his sense of justice, his devotion to his family. But unlike Michael, you are also kind and loving and funny. Your justice is tempered by mercy.”

Castiel looked deep into Dean’s eyes, meeting Dean’s shocked gaze head on.

“You let a nest of vampires go because they weren’t harming anyone. You forgave me, even though I had been deceiving you for months. Michael would never have done that… but you did. You are so much better a man than you think you are, Dean Winchester. There is no reason why you are not good enough to be Michael. In fact, there is far more reason that Michael is not good enough to be _you_ ,” Castiel finished firmly, his last forcefully spoken word ringing out loud and clear, a sharp contrast against the ensuing pin-drop silence that fell over the room.

Castiel felt strangely drained, and also, he had to admit, a little embarrassed by the sheer passion of his outburst, now that it was over.

Sam was staring at him in mute shock.

Dean also seemed to have been shocked into speechlessness. There was a warm softness to his gaze, like he was greatly touched by Castiel’s words.

After a moment, he swallowed and said, “I appreciate the vote of confidence, Cas, I really do. But that still doesn’t make me an angel. I mean, I can’t teleport or heal people or whatever other superpowers you guys have. And I think I’d remember being God’s favorite little power ranger.”

“I’ve already explained this, Dean,” Castiel said, slightly waspishly. “You fell and were reborn as a human. As such, you wouldn’t remember anything or have access to your grace. Therefore, no ‘superpowers’.”

Dean still looked mulish and unconvinced. “I’m not Michael, okay?” he said vehemently, “My name is Dean Winchester. I’m human. I’m not an angel.”

Somewhat hesitantly, Sam said, “Dean… how do you know for sure that Cas isn’t correct?”

“What the hell, Sam?” Dean burst out angrily, turning to Sam with a look of betrayal on his face, “Don’t tell me you’re actually starting to buy into this angel crap-”

“I’m just saying- maybe we should consider the possibility-”

“That I’m an angel? Are you even listening to yourself, Sam? This is bullshit!”

“You listen to yourself, Dean! Why are you so against even considering the idea? We could do some research, look into it. It wouldn’t hurt to know more. And even if you aren’t Michael, the demons sure seem to think that you’re him. They’re gonna keep coming ‘til you’re captured or dead. And what about Castiel’s superiors? The angels aren’t just gonna let you go just on your say so that you can’t possibly be their big boss.” Sam turned to Castiel. “Right, Cas?”

Castiel nodded.

Dean’s fists were clenched tightly. “Can you just drop it, Sam?” he growled. “Even if I am Michael, and that’s a pretty big if- Cas said the angels don’t know where Michael’s grace is. There’s no way to turn me back into an angel.”

“I could attempt to dream-walk into your mind again,” Castiel said, “If you are willing to cooperate with me, there’s a good chance I’ll be able to tease out the information from your subconscious.”

Dean folded his arms, defiance clear on his features. “Well, good luck getting me to cooperate. I like being human. I like being me. I plan to keep it that way.”

Sam looked as though he wanted to open his mouth to protest, but Dean just spoke right over him. “Bottom line is— no grace, no Michael. And right now, nobody knows where the grace is.”

“Is being Michael really such a bad thing?” Sam said, “I mean, angels are really powerful, aren’t they? And Michael’s supposed to be the most powerful of them all. If everyone’s really gunning for us ‘cause you’re Michael, wouldn’t it be better to have you back up to full power?”

“You seem awfully eager for me to be an angel, Sam,” Dean said, throwing Sam an accusing glare. “What? One Winchester with powers wasn’t enough already? Bet Dad would have loved this!” Dean’s tone was brusque with anger, but Castiel could see the fear in his eyes. “Or maybe you’re just happy that you won’t be the only freak around here anymore-” Dean stopped short, eyes widening as he realized how thoughtlessly cruel his words had been, but the damage was already done.

Sam’s expression had gone tight, hurt blooming in his eyes.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that,” Dean said quickly, “I didn’t mean it, Sammy. You know I didn’t.”

Sam nodded, but he didn’t look convinced and the hurt still lingered in his eyes.

Dean stared at him, expression softening. “Look,” he sighed deeply, “If you really want to, you could hit the books. I’m not gonna stop you. It’ll give that gigantic brain of yours something to do, I guess.”

Castiel recognized this concession as Dean’s version of an apology. Sam seemed to realize this too, because he smiled weakly.

“Sure. I’ll give Bobby a call. Ask him to help look up stuff too.” He brightened. “Hey, maybe we could find Michael’s grace if we cross-referenced the date of his supposed fall with the sightings of meteorites in the area. Yeah, that could work.”

Sam looked so excited at the prospect that Castiel didn’t have the heart to tell him that Anna and Balthazar had already tried that and come up with nothing. Wherever Michael’s grace had first landed, it had already been removed by his accomplice and hidden. As good as Sam’s research skills were, no amount of purely human investigative work was going to uncover this mystery.

“Whatever,” said Dean, “I still think you’re wrong though.” He pointed at Sam. “And don’t think I’m just gonna drop everything to go on some wild goose chase for my supposed angel mojo. We’ve still got work to do. Things to hunt, people to save. Anyway, who needs Michael?”

Grinning, Dean slung an arm over Castiel’s shoulder. “We’ve got our very own angel right here, and Cas is way more awesome than some stupid archangel. I mean- did you see him in action with those demons? It was like- _BAM_. Those black-eyed sons of bitches didn’t even stand a chance. That was some serious badassery, man.”

Castiel felt a warm glow at Dean’s praise. Dean was grinning at him proudly, eyes fond.

“Urgh,” said Sam, “Get a room, guys.”

Dean threw a pillow at his head, and Castiel tried his best to hide his smile.

 

\---

 

Over the next few days, Sam threw himself into his research with a fervor that annoyed Dean and impressed Castiel. He read up on the archangel Michael and took to quoting bits out to Dean, especially once he realized how irritating Dean found it.

“Apparently you’re a saint,” he told Dean as Dean chowed down on his latest bacon cheeseburger.

“Shut your face, Sam,” Dean said through a mouthful of cheeseburger.

“That’s not very saintly of you, Dean, chewing with your mouth open like that. Dude, gross. Imagine that on a stained glass window.”

Dean’s next words to Sam were not very saintly at all. In fact they were so foul that a nearby mother clapped her hands over her child’s ears and threw Dean a truly venomous glare before hustling her child away.

 

\---

 

Sam’s research on the location of Michael’s grace, on the other hand, proved far less fruitful. As expected, none of his cross-referencing between meteor sightings and locations revealed any miraculous phenomenon that would indicate the presence of Michael’s grace.

Nevertheless, Sam did not give up. It seemed that Dean’s stubborn insistence that he was wrong had spurred him onto even greater heights of determination to prove that he was right.

He often stayed up reading late into the night and left their motel rooms cluttered with all his books and notes. It became a common sight to see Sam sleeping at his desk, head pillowed on the pages of his latest book. He’d wake up, complain a little about his lack of progress, and then jump right back in again after a quick visit to the bathroom and a coffee.

One morning though, it changed. Sam woke Dean up with his shout. Castiel, who had been spending his night quietly reading through one of Sam’s books of angel lore and amusing himself with the humans’ erroneous ideas about what angels were like, had jerked up too at the sudden noise.

“Dean!” Sam shouted, “Is this your idea of a joke?”

“Huh?” Dean said, blearily rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “Wha-”

“My notes!” Sam said, taking a whole sheaf of papers and shoving them right into Dean’s face. “What did you do to them?”

“I didn’t do anything to your stupid notes!” Dean said. Then his eyes focused on the notes that were being thrust in his face and he blinked. He took the papers from Sam to flip through the stack of them. A frown creased his forehead. “What the hell- I didn’t do this! Why would I do this? I’m not a five year old girl!”

Castiel stepped forward, troubled. He had not been asleep, as usual, and he had not noticed anything untoward the entire night.

However, against all logic, somebody had managed to doodle all over Sam’s notes with a pink glitter pen, drawing little cartoon hearts and stars everywhere. That same person had also scrawled all over the margins of the notepaper in a messy, childlike script. Every piece of paper was defaced by the very same handwriting, with the same message written across it.

Castiel read off the paper, “Like a bolt out of the blue, suddenly it comes upon you. When you wish upon a star, your dreams come true.”

He frowned. “What is this? It makes no sense.”

“When you wish upon a star, your dreams come true,” Dean repeated, his gaze going distant, as if trying to recall something. Suddenly, realization dawned in his eyes. “Those are song lyrics. It’s from that Disney film. Pinocchio.”

At Castiel’s look of incomprehension, Sam elaborated, “It’s an animated movie about a wooden puppet who wanted to become a real boy. It’s pretty good. Dean and I watched it back when we were kids.”

“I see,” said Castiel, even though he did not in fact ‘see’ at all. He pointed at a string of seemingly random numerals scrawled beneath the words. “What about these numbers?”

“Coordinates, most likely,” Sam said. He was staring at the notes hungrily, looking at them like a man dying of thirst who had finally sighted water. “It’s a clue. Someone’s left us a clue about Michael’s grace.”

“How do you figure, Sammy?” Dean said. There was a disgruntled frown on his face. “Maybe our mystery notes vandal just really likes Disney.”

“We know that when angels fall, they look like falling stars to the naked eye—Stars, like in the song. And there’s the connection to the movie- the puppet wanting to become human. Dean, this is about Michael. I’m sure of it.”

“I think you’re stretching it, Sam,” Dean said, but Sam had already flipped open his laptop and typed the coordinates into something called a ‘Google Maps’.

“There,” he said, pointing at the screen, “It’s in Kansas. Lawrence, actually. Our hometown.”

He looked at Dean, excitement blooming on his face. “Dean, we’ve got to go check this out.”

“No way. Absolutely no way. I’m not driving all the way to Kansas just for your wild goose chase,” Dean said. “It’s a good day’s drive, and me and Cas are still working a case here, in case you forgot.”

Castiel cleared his throat. He raised his hand, two fingers outstretched. “I could fly you there now. It would be nearly instantaneous.”

“Great! That’s settled then,” Sam said before Dean could protest, and Dean was forced to agree, though the sour look on his face suggested that he’d rather have eaten vegetarian tofu burgers for a week straight than have gone along with Sam’s plan.

 

\---

 

“Do you feel anything, Dean?” Sam asked.

Dean glared at his brother. “For the last time, Sam, no! My non-existent angel spidey senses are not tingling, okay? There’s nothing here.”

They were in a cornfield in Lawrence, Kansas, at the coordinates that the mysterious vandal had left on Sam’s notes. There was nothing but farmland, fields that stretched on for miles and miles, seemingly without end.

Castiel was forced to admit that Dean was right. He didn’t feel a single trace of anything vaguely supernatural in their vicinity. He was about to speak up and confirm Dean’s words when abruptly, he sensed something. It was a faint niggle at his grace, like a whuff of air on skin, or a light poke.

Something- or someone- wanted to get his attention.

He focused all his senses, going rigid as he turned all his attention inward, concentrating fiercely. _There_.

Hurriedly, before the source of the mental poke could disappear, Castiel placed his hands on both Winchesters’ shoulders and took flight.

When they landed, Sam gasped a little in shock and nearly stumbled. Dean let out a squawk of indignant protest before cursing loudly. He glared at Castiel. “Cas, a little warning next time?”

Castiel ignored him in favor of examining their surroundings. They were on a grass plain, and before them stood a gigantic oak tree. It looked to be at least a century old. Though winter was not completely over, the oak’s branches were filled with leaves that were as green and bright with life as if it were already full spring. In the soft morning light, the tree seemed to be almost glowing.

Sam drew a sharp breath. “Is that- is that Michael’s grace?” he said, voice soft and awed.

Castiel glanced at Dean. Dean was staring at the tree, eyes wide.

“There is one way to find out for sure,” Castiel said, and Dean shuddered.

“Dean, touch the tree,” Sam said. He gave Dean a pointed look.

“No way,” said Dean, backing away slowly. “I’m not touching the fucking tree.” He turned to Castiel. “Cas, take us back right now.”

His green eyes were wide with desperation and Castiel suddenly realized how much this was distressing Dean, even though he had hidden it well. Guilt swamped Castiel. He should never have agreed to let Sam do this.

“Okay,” he began to say, but Sam spoke over him, “Dean, so help me, I will drag you over to that tree and shove your face into it if you don’t walk there yourself. We didn’t come so far for you to chicken out now. If you’re so sure you’re not Michael, then touch the tree and prove it.”

“I don’t want it, okay? I don’t want to be some- some superpowered dick. I don’t want to change.” Dean’s eyes were wild with emotion, anger, fear and desperation warring for dominance on his features. “Why do you want me to be Michael so badly anyway? Are you that eager to get rid of me? Cuz whatever it is that I’ll become after I touch that tree, it ain’t gonna be human. It ain’t gonna be _me._ ”

“Dean, how could you even say that?” Sam said, stricken, “Of course I don’t want to get rid of you. I just- I just want to know. And it can’t be safe, leaving Michael’s grace lying out here where it could just fall into the wrong hands—”

“Sam, it is okay. I will look at the tree,” Castiel said, “I will try to determine if there are any traces of Michael’s grace in it.”

He stepped forward but before he could reach out to the tree, Sam grabbed his arm. “Wait, Cas- you said there were protective measures around Michael’s grace- is this going to be dangerous for you?”

Sam was uncannily perceptive, as always.

Even if the protective wards that Michael’s accomplice had placed were already removed, there was a possibility that Michael’s grace itself would react negatively towards him. Grace was the pure, distilled essence of an angel’s power, and especially given how powerful Michael was, there was every chance that Castiel would be incinerated on contact. It was why Castiel hadn’t offered to examine the tree in the first place.

Castiel didn’t want to mention that small detail though.

The Winchesters were at a stalemate, and this was the only way they could solve it. Mentioning the dangers would only worry them unnecessarily and anyway, Castiel would make sure to take extra care.

“No,” Castiel lied, but he must have hesitated for too long. Dean was looking at him, and his eyes were wide. However, the fear in his eyes now wasn’t for himself, but for Castiel.

“Damn it,” Dean cursed. “Cas, you stay back.”

Without giving Castiel a chance to protest, he strode up to the tree and slammed his palm against it.

Castiel watched in shock as brilliant light began to envelop the tree and Dean’s form.

Dean’s eyes were wide with fear but his mouth was a thin line of quiet, resigned determination. The light began to build, blindingly bright. There was a weight in the air, the unmistakable feeling of a tremendous power gathering.

Castiel quickly slapped a hand over Sam’s face to shield his eyes, fearful that the human would be blinded from the sight of Michael’s true form.

Castiel could barely make out the shape of the tree or Dean against the searing glow of the light. It was so bright that even he could barely stand to look at it—

Then suddenly, all the light vanished.

“Uh,” said Dean.

He looked at the tree, eyebrows raised. “That was… surprisingly anticlimactic.”

“What?” Sam burst out, “What the hell happened? What the fuck was that?”

He ran up to the tree, looking between it and Dean, who was grinning in obvious relief. “What was that light? Why did it disappear? _What the fuck is going on?_ ”

“Calm yo’ tits, Sam,” a new voice said, “Don’t get your panties all in a twist. I was just fucking with you guys. I mean, you make it so _easy_.”

Castiel spun around to see a man with dark golden-brown hair standing a few paces behind them. He was grinning, brown eyes bright with wicked mischief.

“Gabriel,” Castiel breathed in shock, the name falling from his lips unbidden.

“Hey bro,” Gabriel said cheerily. He cocked his head at Dean. “Or maybe I should say- ‘ _bros_ ’.”

Dean already had his gun out and aimed at Gabriel. “Who the hell are you? You know this guy, Cas?”

Castiel nodded, not trusting his voice.

Gabriel the archangel, who had been missing for centuries, was standing in front of him. Everything was starting to make sense now—only something of an archangel’s level of power would have been able to hide Michael’s grace so thoroughly. Gabriel had been Michael’s accomplice. He was the one who had helped Michael fall.

“The archangel Gabriel, at your service,” Gabriel sank into a bow. He straightened up, grinning. “Though the humans also know me as Loki. It’s good to see you again, Michael.”

Dean, already on edge since the moment Gabriel had appeared, tensed up even further at this. “My name is _Dean_ ,” he growled, taking a step forward aggressively. He looked as though he wanted to shoot Gabriel on principle, and so Castiel stepped forward and gently pushed the barrel of his gun down.

“You know where Michael’s grace is?” Castiel asked, eyeing Gabriel warily.

“Yep,” Gabriel said brightly, popping the ‘p’. “I mean, I was the one who hid it in the first place. Pretty silly if I didn’t know where it is. Sure, I’ll tell you where to find it. I’m nice like that.”

“So why lead us on a wild goose chase?” Sam suddenly spoke up. He had looked a little cowed when Gabriel first introduced himself, but now he was glaring at the archangel. “Why not just come straight to us instead of playing games?”

Gabriel gave Sam a look of exasperation and pointed a finger at his face, circling it around. “Uh… _trickster god?_ Screwing around with people is what I do. Besides, you guys are just too much fun to fuck with. How could I resist?”

“Your brother is a dick, Cas,” Dean said. “Are all angels dicks? Are you just the exception?”

“Love you too, Michael,” Gabriel said, smirking.

“So help me God, you call me that one more time and-”

“Dean.” Castiel placed a hand on Dean’s arm and Dean subsided, falling into sullen silence.

Gabriel smirked. “Whipped,” he said in an exaggerated whisper, and he made a whipping motion, complete with accompanying sound effects.

Castiel stared at him in blank incomprehension. Dean, on the other hand, was glaring at Gabriel murderously.

“You little-” Dean began, but Castiel spoke over him, “Gabriel. You were the one who helped Michael to fall.”

Gabriel grinned, sly and knowing.

“Oh yes, I guess you could say I helped Michael to fall. I helped him quite a lot indeed. You could even say he wouldn’t have fallen if he hadn’t had any of my…” Gabriel smirked, “ _help_.”

Castiel’s brows furrowed into a frown. “What do you mean?”

“Did you really think that Michael- _holier-than-thou, does-everything-Dad-says Michael_ \- would have chosen to fall of his own free will? Seriously?” Gabriel gave Castiel a look that suggested that he thought Castiel had all the intelligence of a particularly dull rock. “I tricked him.”

“You tricked him?”

“Into falling. Do try to keep up, Cassie. You’re in danger of making Dean here look like Einstein in comparison.”

“Hey!” Dean said.

“How did you manage that?” Castiel said. He felt as though his mind had gone blank with shock.

They had all thought that Michael had chosen to fall of his own volition. Michael was an archangel, the most powerful of them all. Nobody _made_ him do anything he didn’t want to. The thought that he might have been coerced or tricked into falling had never even crossed Castiel’s mind.

“It wasn’t that hard,” Gabriel said blithely, tone flippant, “Michael’s like a rock. A really obstinate, stupidly powerful rock. Now Lucifer. Lucifer’s the sly one. He’s sneaky, like me. Taught me all my tricks, actually. But Michael?” Gabriel scoffed. “It wasn’t _entirely_ impossible for me to trick Michael. Hard, _sure_. Nearly impossible, _maybe_. Took all my considerable wits and cunning- and I do mean _considerable_ \- but Michael came blundering right into my little trap. For all his power, he could be _really_ dense.”

“That’s one thing that hasn’t changed, I see.” Gabriel threw a smirk Dean’s way, and for once, Dean did not even react to the insult. He appeared to be too stunned.

Castiel felt as though the world had fallen out from beneath him. “So Michael never actually intended to disobey. He was still-”

“The ever dutiful, ever obedient son? Yes. God’s good little soldier? Also yes. An incredible asshole? Big, resounding yes. Castiel probably doesn’t know this, ‘cause we never shared information with the lower ranks. Need to know basis, you understand. But see-” Gabriel paused, “-here’s the thing. Michael and Raphael? They were planning to start the Apocalypse. Not prevent it. They _wanted_ it to happen. Michael was going to let the demons set Lucifer free from the Cage and then raze the earth fighting him to the death. He didn’t care about collateral damage. All he cared about was Paradise.”

Gabriel’s tone was bitter and weary.

“And where’s God in all of this, you might ask? Well, God is missing. He’s left the building. Last I know, the archangels were running the show. Well, _archangel_ , now that only Raphael’s left.”

Sam and Dean were staring at Gabriel in shock, but it was Castiel that Gabriel was looking at. His eyes were hard, but Castiel could see the pain and sorrow in them. Hearing all of this- seeing the truth of it in Gabriel’s tight smile and flinty gaze- made Castiel feel as though he had been punched in the gut.

“Pretty messed up, right? I know. That’s why I left. I’ve been kicking around this goofy little dirt ball of a planet for a while, and I gotta admit- I’ve grown pretty fond of the place. So you can understand why I took issue with Michael’s grand plan to have his big pow-wow with Lucifer here. I like Earth. I like humanity. I’d rather not have my big brothers come here and smash it all up.”

“So I tricked Michael into falling. I took his grace and stuffed it into some ugly little knick-knack I got off a tourist trap in Cairo. Put the best binding and concealment spells I knew on it and then some. Sold the thing to some gruff old hunter in a dirty baseball cap.”

Gabriel smirked.

“Told him it was _real special_. A protective amulet that would keep its wearer from harm. Think he probably passed it to some adorable little moppet who was gonna give it to his no-show absentee dad as a Christmas present.”

Still smirking, he winked at Sam.

Sam gasped and spun around to stare at the tiny bronze amulet that Dean always wore around his neck.

It was a Christmas present from Sam, Dean had told Castiel. Sam had been planning to give it to their father, but when John never showed up for Christmas, he had given it to Dean instead, and Dean had kept it ever since. Castiel knew just how much Dean treasured that amulet.

“God doesn’t play dice with the universe, and neither do I. I made sure Michael’s grace got exactly where it was supposed to go. Safe, hidden, and with its true owner.” Gabriel smiled. “Everything exactly as I planned.”

Dean looked ill. He was clutching his amulet so tightly that his knuckles had gone white. “You’re lying.”

“You know what I say is true, Dean,” Gabriel said, and for once, his tone when speaking to Dean was not flippant, maliciously teasing or scornful. Instead, he was gazing at Dean with something like sympathy.

“You can feel it calling to you, can’t you? Your grace. Now that I’ve alerted you to its presence. You’ve always felt a connection to that amulet, and not just ‘cause Sam gave it to you and all the warm brotherly love that entails. What about all those strange feelings that you have that you can’t really explain, telling you when something’s not quite right? And all those dreams of flames and falling—”

“Shut up!” Dean said, eyes wild with panic. “Shut up, just SHUT UP!”

“Deny it all you like, Dean, but it won’t change the situation. You are Michael, whether you want to believe it or not. The demons are going to come after you. They won’t stop ‘til you’re captured or dead. And Heaven? Heaven won’t stop until they have their General back. The way I see it, you have two choices.

“You can stay human and keep running. Maybe you’ll die, or maybe you’ll get captured. Doesn’t matter which side it is, they’ll both torture you until they get what they want. Heaven and Hell aren’t all that different when it comes down to it. Heaven just has better publicity.”

Gabriel smiled bitterly.

“Option two. You take back your grace and hope for the best. Maybe Michael’s time as Dean will have changed him for the better. Maybe the puppet has finally learned how to love. Maybe he won’t be so willing to raze the Earth after spending twenty-seven years living on it—well, that’s the result I was hoping for anyway.”

"Or,” continued Gabriel, “Maybe Michael will just snap back to being his usual Smitey McSmite dickhead self. Well, in that case…” Gabriel shrugged. “I tried, didn’t I? And let’s just say I’ll be far, far away from here when that happens.”

“So that’s it, you’re just gonna go?” Sam said, “Aren’t you going to help us? You’re an archangel. You could—”

“What? Fight off all the legions of Heaven and Hell? I’m an archangel, but I’m only just one archangel. I’m not suicidal, thank you.” Gabriel rolled his eyes.

“Anyway, I’ve helped plenty already, haven’t I? I moved Michael off the chessboard, delayed Heaven’s plans for the Apocalypse, and I’ve taken precious time off from my regular schedule of mischief and mayhem to explain all of this to you. You should be falling over yourselves to _thank me._ If not for what I did, it’d probably be the End Times right about now, Dean Winchester would be human, and the two of you would be primping yourselves up to be the shiny new angel condoms for my respective big brothers.”

Dean gaped at him in outrage. “What the hell is that supposed to mean, you son of a bitch?”

Gabriel spoke right over him, “So I think I’ve done quite enough. The rest of how this story ends? It’s all up to you.”

In a snap of his fingers, he was gone, leaving the Winchesters and Castiel staring at the air in stunned silence.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

After they returned to the motel, Dean proceeded to pretend that nothing had happened at all. This was not unusual for Dean, whose primary coping mechanism seemed to involve copious amounts of alcohol and ignoring his problems in the hope that they would go away if he ignored them long enough.

He was cleaning his guns angrily. The weapons were practically shiny enough that Castiel could see his reflection in them, unsurprising given that this was the fifth time Dean had polished them in the last hour, but Castiel suspected that Dean would not appreciate it if Castiel were to point that out.

Sam sighed. “Dean, we need to talk about what Gabriel told us.”

“What’s there to talk about?” Dean snapped.

“About you being Michael, for one? And what we’re gonna do about all the forces of Heaven and Hell being on your ass. You heard what Gabriel said- they’re not gonna stop coming. We don’t even have the Colt, Dean. We don’t stand a chance.”

Dean grunted angrily. “If you think you can convince me to angel up, you’ve got another think coming. Heaven and Hell can go screw themselves. I’m staying as I am. End of story.”

“I don’t think you’re going to have a choice about that,” Sam said. His eyes were sad. “Do you think I actually _like_ the idea that I might lose you once you become an angel again? I don’t like any of this any more than you do. But do we have any other choice? We’ve got to be realistic here-”

A stubborn look on his face, Dean declared, “So maybe we don’t have any choice. Maybe we can’t win. But whatever it is, I’m not just gonna bend over. The angels want Michael? Well, they can come and get him. I’ll go down swinging. Same goes for the demons. They can all go screw themselves. In the meantime, I’m just gonna keep on keeping on. Do my job and save people. End of discussion, Sam.”

However, later when the two of them were alone, Dean turned to Castiel, and he no longer seemed so sure about his decision.

“Cas, what do you think about all this?” he said softly, “I mean, the whole purpose of your mission was to turn me back into Michael, wasn’t it? Your life would be so much easier if I agreed to angel up. You could go back to Heaven again. You’d be a hero. Heck, you might even get a promotion. So, uh, what do you think I should do? Do you think Sam’s right?”

Dean was looking at Castiel through lowered lashes, almost as though he was afraid of what Castiel’s answer would be.

And suddenly Castiel realized something. Dean cared about Castiel’s opinion. What Castiel thought was important to him. He obviously wanted to keep fighting to remain himself, but he’d give it all up in an instant if Castiel asked him to. The realization left Castiel with a strange, heavy feeling in his throat, and it was a while before he spoke again.

“You are entirely correct, Dean,” he said, his tone matter-of-fact, “My life would be very much easier if you agree to give in. I would be welcomed back to Heaven as a hero, and I would most certainly be promoted. It would be entirely in my interests if you were to take back your grace and become an angel again.”

Dean was staring at him, expression guarded.

“Besides, for two humans and one angel to stand against all the might of Heaven itself? That is the epitome of wishful thinking. Foolhardiness in the extreme. As Gabriel would say, it is tantamount to suicide. All things considered, I’d be better off taking that promotion.”

Dean’s face fell, his eyes filling with sad resignation. He looked as though Castiel had just confirmed everything that he already knew.

Then Castiel said, voice soft, “However, I don’t care about a promotion or about going back to Heaven. I care about what _you_ want, Dean. And if you don’t want to return to being an angel, then I will stand by your decision. No matter how foolish it is, or what difficulties we face. We’ll face them together, whatever the consequences.”

Dean looked so touched by Castiel’s words, his green eyes brimming with emotion. He stared at Castiel like that for a long while.

Then, in a strangely shy voice, he said, “Cas, I think I’d like to kiss you now.”

“Oh,” said Castiel, surprised. This was very uncharacteristic behavior for Dean. Castiel had watched him be with enough women to know that when it came to matters of passion (as in most other areas of his life), Dean was more a man of action than of words. He usually preferred to skip straight to the chase. “Yes, of course you may.”

Gently, Dean tipped Castiel’s face up. For some strange, inexplicable reason, Castiel found himself holding his breath as Dean leaned in. Their lips met, and Castiel’s eyes slid closed as he lost himself in the sensation of the kiss. Dean kissed Castiel slowly, with utmost tenderness, as if he was trying to make every second count.

Once, in Castiel’s younger and more foolish days, when the Earth was still in its infancy and humanity barely even a glint in their Father’s eye, Castiel had taken a dare from Balthazar.

He had thrown himself off a cliff, falling through the air, his wings folded tightly by his side, finally snapping them out just a moment before he hit the water. In that moment of free fall, Castiel had felt a surge of terror, but also a tremendous rush of giddy joy. In that instant, he had felt more alive than he had ever been before.

In hindsight, Castiel had felt rather silly about it. He was an angel; such a fall would not have harmed him in the least, but the feeling had stayed with him through the years. The feeling of being truly alive.

When they finally broke away from the kiss, Dean just gazed at him silently, a tender smile on his lips, and in that instant, Castiel felt a vast outpouring of love for Dean. Castiel was an angel, he was made to love God and all of God’s creations, but he had never known that he could love so fiercely until then.

It was frightening but also exhilarating, knowing just how deeply he loved Dean. And suddenly Castiel was reminded of Balthazar’s dare and the terrifying, giddy rush of falling. This was a different kind of falling altogether, but the feeling, Castiel found, was very much the same.

_I love him_ , Castiel thought as he gazed at Dean’s face, and he felt the way the words reverberated in him. Like a promise. An oath. The way they sunk into him, seeping into his very essence. Permeating every fiber of his being, every stitch of his grace. _I love him._

In that moment, Castiel knew that he would do whatever it took to protect Dean. Heaven or Hell, he would fight them all to keep Dean safe.

 

\---

 

Over the next few days, Castiel taught the Winchesters every anti-angel protective measure he could think of. He brought them a jug of holy oil from Jerusalem, which Dean eyed gingerly, probably remembering the conversation they had had when Castiel was telling Dean how to kill him.

Dean and Sam had gasped when Castiel had reached out and branded their ribs with Enochian sigils that would hide them from every angel in creation.

Sam had pulled up his shirt to stare at his chest curiously. Dean, on the other hand, had grinned and cracked a joke about being “touched by an angel” that had Sam rolling his eyes and muttering, “I bet you were hoping it would be a little further south,” which caused Dean to glare at him and try to smack his head.

“The sigils work best when situated on the ribs,” Castiel had said, “Though I suppose the pelvis is a fairly acceptable substitute. Do you want me to place them on your pelvis instead, Dean?”

For some reason, Sam had burst into laughter after that while Dean groaned.

Castiel also taught the brothers how to draw an angel-banishing sigil and made them practice until they could draw the sigil accurately with their eyes closed. Dean had been reluctant to use it since it would mean banishing Castiel as well.

“Does it hurt when you get banished?” he asked worriedly.

“It does…weaken me, yes,” Castiel admitted, “But that is a small price to pay versus you getting captured.”

Dean still looked reluctant. Castiel looked at him firmly and said, “Dean, promise me that if you are ever in trouble, you will use the sigil, regardless of whether it will affect me or not.”

It had taken a long time and some of Castiel’s best stern looks before Dean had caved and made the promise, though he had done so in a very grudging manner that raised doubts about whether he’d actually keep his word.

Castiel hoped that the Winchesters would never have to use any of the things he taught them, but he knew that this was ultimately a foolish hope. Raphael would tire of waiting for Castiel to report back with results eventually. Perhaps he had already begun to suspect Castiel’s loyalty, given how he had sent Uriel to deliver that warning. Castiel could try to cover up his changed allegiances, but Raphael would not tolerate his excuses forever. In time, he would begin to send angels after them.

Castiel’s stomach turned at the thought of having to fight his brothers and sisters, maybe even kill them, but it couldn’t be avoided. His only hope was that Raphael would not decide to send any of the more high-ranking angels, or worse— take a vessel himself and personally intervene. In that case, they would be, as Dean liked to put it, ‘completely screwed’.

However, there was one thing that worked in their favor. Most of the more powerful angels disdained having to descend to earth to take care of matters themselves. They usually left that to angels like Castiel. The foot soldiers. Grunts, as Dean would say. Raphael was arrogant, sure of his own superiority. He would underestimate Castiel and the Winchesters, and that would give them an advantage. A slim advantage, perhaps, but it could nevertheless make all the difference.

All in all, Castiel gave it about a week more before he would have to face another angel in battle. Instead, what he got was two days.

 

\---

 

It started with a case. A missing child and a frightened mother.

Dean suspected changelings, and Castiel had been inclined to agree. The mother, a single parent by the name of Alicia Lawson, was a nervous wreck. She was sweating heavily, face pale, her eyes wild and panicked. Constantly running trembling fingers through her dishwater blonde hair, she kept throwing them pleading, frightened glances, like she was silently begging for help. Castiel had put it down to her distress over losing her child. He hadn’t suspected a thing.

They followed Alicia to the barn where her daughter had supposedly vanished. However, instead of changelings, they had found a horde of demons waiting for them. Alicia crumpled to the ground, sobbing, a wretched expression of guilt and misery on her tear-stained face.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, he took Emily—I had to—”

Then there had no time for anything but fighting.

Dean and Sam had held their own capably enough, shooting demons with salt-filled rounds as Castiel smote them from their vessels. It looked as though they might actually make it through this one unscathed. Then Castiel heard the flutter of wings that signaled the arrival of one of his brethren.

He spun around to face the other angel.

Uriel smiled at him.

“Uriel,” Castiel growled. “So _you’re_ the traitor. _You’re_ the one who leaked the information about Michael to the demons.”

He circled the other angel warily. Anger burned in him. He flicked his hand and his angel blade slid into his palm. Distantly, he heard the sounds of fighting continuing. He hoped that Sam and Dean would be able to handle the demons without him. Castiel had to deal with Uriel himself.

“I thought better of you, Uriel. We were friends. Brothers and comrades-in-arms. And now you’ve betrayed Heaven—stooped so low as to work with _demons_? How could you have fallen so far from grace?”

“I could ask the same of you, Castiel,” Uriel said, “I see the way you fawn over the humans- those whining, puking larvae.”

He sneered, eyes dark with disgust and fury. “And the way you slaver over that _walking blasphemy._ Dean Winchester is an abomination. He should have been erased from this earth, like the stain that he is, on the very day he was born.”

Castiel suppressed the growl of anger that wanted to rise in his throat.

“Better to follow Michael than _Lucifer_ ,” Castiel said. He had to keep his cool. Uriel was trying to rile him up, get Castiel to act recklessly—it was a tactic that Castiel was familiar with. He had taught it to Uriel himself.

He and Uriel circled each other warily, both of them watching each other carefully, waiting for the chance to strike.

Uriel spoke, “You remember the Morningstar, don’t you? How strong he was, how beautiful? He didn’t bow to humanity and so he was punished for defending us. Michael deliberately turned himself into an abomination _,_ and yet it is Lucifer who rots in the Pit for refusing to bow his head to those hairless apes. Tell me--where is the justice in that?”

Uriel’s eyes burned bright with the feverish conviction of the fanatically devoted.

“It is not too late for you, Castiel. You could join me. Join our brother. Together, we can set Lucifer free and start the Apocalypse. All you need to do is kill Dean Winchester.”

“I’d rather die,” Castiel said, and he darted in for a strike. His blade met Uriel’s with a juddering impact before they both leapt apart.

Castiel stayed on guard, holding his blade out defensively as he waited for Uriel to make a move. But Uriel did not attack. Something like comprehension dawned on his face, and disgust slowly crept into his expression.

“I should have known. You’re in _love_ with Dean Winchester, aren’t you?” Uriel spat the word ‘love’ like it was a vulgarity. His lower lip was curled, an expression of utter revulsion on his face as he shook his head slowly.

“I would never have believed it if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes. You were always the good little soldier, Castiel. Unquestioningly obedient. Did everything you were told to do. They’d say ‘jump’ and you’d ask how high. You’d have gladly _stabbed_ yourself in the heart with your blade if you were ordered to. You’d have died with _a smile on your face_.”

Uriel gestured at Castiel, sneering. “But look at you now… You’ve actually fallen in love with a _human_. And not just any human. An _abomination_. _You_ are the one who has fallen from grace, Castiel, not I.”

Uriel’s expression was dark with loathing and revulsion. “I thought I would give you a warrior’s death, on account of all our years of friendship. But I see now- I was only deluding myself. I shouldn’t be wasting time on _filth like you_. I will rid the world of Dean Winchester myself. Alastair! Take care of this.”

At Uriel’s call, a white-eyed demon appeared. Castiel could sense the raw power emanating from its human host, a middle-aged man in a business suit.

Fear rose in Castiel. This was no garden-variety demon, but one of the lieutenants of Hell. This was a demon that would give even an angel a challenge.

“I don’t take orders from you, angel,” Alastair said. The way he spoke was strange and lilting; there was something almost sing-song about his languid, nasal drawl. The effect was chilling. “We may serve the same master, but that doesn’t make me your _pet._ ”

“Rest assured I wouldn’t be calling on you if it wasn’t absolutely necessary, you _pus-filled sore_ ,” Uriel said, “Every moment I spend working together with you and your kind makes my vessel’s skin crawl.”

But Alastair just laughed.

“I’ll forgive you just this once, you _sanctimonious prick_. But only because you’ve brought me such a delightful-looking gift.”

He stepped towards Castiel. There was a predatory smile on his face.

“I’m going to enjoy ripping your wings out and making you scream,” he told Castiel, “I’ll make you sing for me, little bird.”

Castiel looked back towards where Dean and Sam were, still desperately fighting off the demons. Uriel was strolling forward towards Dean, slow and leisurely. He was smiling thinly.

With a casual wave of his hand, Dean and Sam’s weapons were wrenched out of their hands. Uriel’s next gesture sent them crashing to the ground.

His eyes gleamed with anticipation as he stared down at Dean’s groaning form.

Castiel’s eyes widened in fear. _Dean._ Dean was in danger. Castiel had to get to him.

Suddenly, red-hot pain knifed through his side and he doubled over. But before he could recover, Alastair followed up his punch with a vicious right hook, sending Castiel stumbling, almost falling to the ground.

“You seem awfully distracted, little bird. I’m sorry, was I boring you?” Alastair smirked. “I’ll have to make more of an effort.”

He hit Castiel again, and this time Castiel rolled with the blow, following up with his own counter-attack. He slammed his palm against Alastair’s forehead, concentrating fiercely on pouring his grace into the demon to exorcise it.

However, Alastair just laughed. He threw Castiel’s hold off, slamming him to the ground and wrapping both hands around Castiel’s neck.

“Sorry, kiddo. That won’t work on me. I think it’s time you got a little taste of your own medicine.”

He began chanting in Latin, and Castiel realized that the words were an incredibly ancient, incredibly rare spell to weaken Castiel and tear him from his vessel. He could feel the hooks of power sinking into his grace, threatening to pull him from his borrowed flesh.

Desperately, he looked towards where Dean and Sam were. Even as his vision blurred with the pain of the exorcism, Castiel saw that the demons had Dean pinned down, face pressed down to the ground. As Uriel neared, he bent down and roughly yanked Dean’s head up with one hand, forcing Dean to face him.

Dean was breathing heavily, his face swollen and bleeding, but his expression was defiant.

“Dean Winchester,” Uriel said, “So _this_ is what the mighty Michael has been reduced to?” He scoffed. “ _Pathetic_. You are not even worthy of being called by his name. Regardless, our brother sends his regards… and his regrets that he cannot be here to do this himself.”

Releasing Dean, Uriel stood. At his signal, the demons holding Dean down pulled him upright, forcing him to stand still as Uriel smiled and drew his angel blade.

The blade glinted as it caught a ray of fading sunlight that had filtered through the rafters of the barn.

Dean stared at it, fear beginning to show in his eyes.

“Saint Michael the Archangel, defend us in battle,” Sam’s voice was ragged with pain but still his words were loud and clear; Castiel could hear them even over Alastair’s chanting. With some surprise, Castiel realized that Sam was reciting the Prayer to Saint Michael.

Sam’s eyes were shut, an expression of intense concentration on his face as he prayed. “Be our defense against the wickedness and snares of the Devil. May God rebuke him, we humbly pray; and do thou, O Prince of the Heavenly Host-”

Uriel looked up in rage, the hand holding the blade beginning to fall. He threw out his other hand and Sam’s eyes flew open. He began to choke, face twisting in agony.

In Uriel’s moment of distraction, he didn’t notice as Dean’s expression changed.

His features smoothened out, face turning blank. His green eyes, once clouded with fear, cleared, and it was as though a steel wall had descended, turning his gaze hard and cold. The amulet around his neck looked almost as though it was glowing.

The demons holding Dean down began to scream in tandem as their flesh seared. They released Dean, writhing on the ground as flames consumed them.

“What?” Alastair said, his brows furrowing into a frown as he turned around to look at what had caused the commotion. Castiel sagged back weakly as Alastair’s grip slackened. The pain was beginning to fade now that Alastair had stopped his chanting and the hooks tugging at his essence began to loosen their hold.

“Uriel,” Dean said, voice flat and emotionless. He sounded nothing like himself. The lack of expression on Dean’s face was so completely alien that Castiel felt as though he was staring at a stranger.

“Michael,” Uriel said, his eyes widening in terror. He began to back away, but it was too late. Dean placed a hand on his shoulder and Uriel burst into flame, screaming.

The flames quickly consumed his grace and vessel both—until there was nothing left but ashes that scattered quickly in the sudden, unnatural wind that had whipped up within the barn.

Alastair drew a sharp breath. “We’ll finish this another day, little bird—”

“I don’t think so,” Dean said. He was suddenly next to Alastair, placing a hand on his forehead, and unlike when Castiel had previously attempted it to no effect, Alastair screamed, high and agonized, and white light burst out from his vessel’s eyes and mouth.

Dean was smiling. He continued smiling even as Alastair’s vessel toppled to the ground, eyes burnt out, the demon inside it vaporized into nothing.

The other demons had begun to scatter. It seemed that they had realized that the tide had turned. However, before they could flee, Dean raised a hand, palm out, and Castiel recognized the energy that was beginning to build.

“Sam! Close your eyes!” Castiel cried desperately, hoping that Sam would obey in time.

Thankfully, Sam did so, covering his eyes with one hand and flinching away as a brilliant white light filled the whole room. By the time it had cleared, all the demons were destroyed and the barn was littered with corpses with charred eye sockets.

The only people left alive in the barn were Sam, Castiel, Dean, and the woman who had led them into the trap. She was huddled against the wall, as she had been throughout the entire fight, eyes squeezed shut and curled into a ball, sobbing in mindless terror.

Sam was staring at Dean in a mixture of shocked awe and horror. He looked as though he wanted to go towards Dean, but he took one aborted step before stopping.

Dean was staring at Alicia Lawson, face emotionless. His eyes were as cold as ice. They almost seemed to be glowing.

In that moment, Castiel could see nothing of Dean in him. All he could see was Michael. It was utterly terrifying.

Dean raised his arm again, palm out in a very familiar gesture.

“Dean, no!” Sam ran in front of Alicia Lawson, interposing himself between the woman and Dean. “She’s innocent. Leave her alone.”

Dean just stared at Sam, face blank, and whatever it is that Sam saw in Dean’s face must have frightened him because he gulped and took a step backward, almost unconsciously. But he still stood his ground, squaring his shoulders and staring his brother down.

“Don’t do this, Dean,” Sam said. “We don’t kill innocent people.”

“Alicia Lawson led us into this trap,” Dean said. “She is far from innocent.”

“Please,” Alicia said. Her eyes were bloodshot, red-rimmed from crying, and her voice trembled. “I had no choice—that man took my daughter-” She looked at Dean desperately, “He said he’d kill her if I didn’t cooperate—”

“You willingly allied yourself with demons,” Dean said, features as eerily blank as before. His voice was flat and emotionless. “Your reasons do not matter. You must be judged for your crimes.”

Castiel had thought that Dean’s eyes might have been glowing before, but now he was sure of it. There was a faint glow around his irises, bright blue and inhuman.

He took one step closer, and Sam, looking as though the very action pained him, shakily drew a dagger out from his jacket. “Don’t make me stop you, Dean. I don’t want to, but I will if you force my hand…”

Dean stared at Sam as though he had just noticed Sam for the very first time. He blinked, once, slowly, as if annoyed and surprised that Sam was actually daring to stand up to him.

“Sam Winchester,” he said. His gaze turned sharp. “Lucifer’s true vessel.”

“Wha- what?” Sam said, voice stuttering in shock.

A brief expression of distaste crossed Dean’s face before being swept away, leaving his face as perfectly blank as before. “You are irrelevant. For now.”

He made a sweeping gesture with his hand, and Sam was flung aside as though an invisible hand had picked him up and roughly tossed him away. The hunter landed with a cry of pain, the dagger skittering from his hand. Dean began to walk forward slowly, his face implacable and hard as stone.

Alicia Lawson looked up at Dean as he approached, eyes wide with fear. She drew a ragged breath before closing her eyes, expression pained but resigned.

Under her breath, she began to pray, eyes still squeezed shut tightly, “Our Father in Heaven, hallowed be your name. Your-” Her breath hitched, “-your kingdom come, your will be done-”

Dean raised his arm again.

“Michael,” Castiel said, and Dean paused. He turned to look at Castiel.

As his gaze fell upon Castiel, his blank expression seemed to falter for a split second and a tremor of emotion passed across his face, but it was gone as quickly as it came.

“Castiel,” he said, and his voice held none of Dean’s usual warmth.

Castiel ached at the use of his full name. The last trace of doubt vanished from his mind. This was not Dean. Dean would have called him ‘Cas’.

This was Michael.

“Will you not show mercy?” Castiel asked, even though he already knew the answer.

Behind Michael, Sam slowly rose to his feet. Castiel met his eyes for a split second. Then he allowed his gaze to dart down to the tiny amulet that lay nestled against Michael’s chest, glowing brightly. When Castiel looked at him again, Sam gave a slight, minute nod of his head.

“Do it!” Castiel shouted, and Sam lunged forward. Michael spun around, but it was too late.

Sam’s fingers closed on the thin black cord of the amulet and he yanked it away from Michael, hard. The cord snapped and the tiny bronze carving of a face went spinning through the air before falling to the ground and clattering to a halt at Castiel’s feet.

Castiel snatched it up. It had stopped glowing, but it was still hot to the touch. Castiel could sense the immense power within it, bursting to get out. The binding spells, it seemed, were beginning to fray.

When Castiel looked back up, Michael’s face was still a blank mask, but as Castiel watched, something changed in his eyes.

Dean blinked- once, twice- as if waking up from a deep sleep, and then slowly but surely, horror began to flood his features.

Wide-eyed, Dean stared at Sam and Castiel, as though seeing them for the very first time. His gaze fell upon Alicia Lawson, still kneeling on the ground and praying, and he looked so terrified and horrorstruck that Castiel ached to reach out and comfort him.

“I-” Dean gasped, his breaths coming fast and sharp. He looked as though he was going to be sick. Self-disgust warred with fear on his features. “I—” He inhaled sharply, and Castiel recognized the signs of an oncoming panic attack.

“Dean-” he said, but Dean was already running out of the barn, his heavy footfalls vanishing into the night.

 

\---

 

Castiel stood outside the bathroom of the motel room he and Dean were sharing. Dean had locked himself in there the moment they had reached the motel.

Sam was still out, taking care of the aftermath of the hunt and trying to find out where Uriel had taken Alicia Lawson’s daughter. That left Castiel to take care of Dean.

For a while, there had been the noises of Dean retching. Castiel had tried to call out to Dean, but all his pleas for Dean to let him in went unanswered.

Castiel could have opened the bathroom door easily, or even flown in directly, but Dean had locked the door for a reason. So Castiel just stood outside quietly, trying his best to tamp down on his worry and wait patiently for Dean to come back out. So far, he had not succeeded on either count.

“Dean, let me in,” Castiel repeated for about the twentieth time that evening. “Please let me help you.”

Castiel could hear Dean moving inside, but he did not reply.

Things went quiet for a while. Then Dean had made a strange gasping noise before abruptly going quiet. It was probably too soft to be picked up by the human ear, but Castiel could hear the minute hitching of Dean’s breath that indicated he was crying, almost silently, and trying his very best to hide it.

From the relative loudness of Dean’s breaths, Castiel knew that Dean must be sitting with his back against the bathroom door.

He imagined Dean sitting there on the cold tiles, slumped against the door, head bowed and shaking with silent sobs as he quietly broke down. Castiel felt as though his borrowed human heart could break.

Slowly, quietly, Castiel sat down too, leaning back against the bathroom door.

Dean couldn’t see him, obviously, and there was still a locked door between them, but for some reason, Castiel still felt better when he did this, as if he could somehow comfort Dean with his presence, even through the piece of wood that separated them.

For a while, Castiel just sat there, listening to the sound of Dean’s breathing. Then all of a sudden, Dean broke the silence.

“I lost control,” Dean said quietly, “Michael took over, and I nearly killed that woman.”

Castiel could not deny that. Everything Dean said was true. Dean had been in mortal danger, and in his desperate fear, he must have subconsciously reached out to his grace. Some piece of Michael had resurfaced, his old personality reasserting itself.

“But you stopped in the end,” Castiel said.

Dean laughed bitterly. “Yeah, only ‘cause Sam yanked that thing off my neck.” He sighed. “I should have hurled it into the trash the instant your dickhead brother told us what it was.”

“That wouldn’t be safe, Dean. Your grace is extremely powerful, and if it were to fall into the wrong hands…”

Castiel heard Dean’s angry snort through the door. “Yeah, yeah, you said that already. Like, a gazillion times. But don’t you see? _I’m_ not safe, Cas. I’m a ticking time bomb. There’s no telling when I’m gonna go nuclear and turn all terminator angel again. I could have hurt you. Or Sam. In fact, I _would have_ , if Sam hadn’t yanked that amulet off me.”

“Dean, none of that matters now. The amulet is safe and with me. Open the door and let’s talk about this properly.”

“No,” said Dean, “I told you already. I’m not safe to be around,” and there was something heartbreakingly child-like about his insistence on shutting himself away, as if that would somehow solve all their problems.

“Dean, you are hiding in a _toilet_ ,” Castiel said, “There is nothing safe about you being in there for anyone concerned.”

Dean let out a bark of surprised laughter. Castiel could imagine the way his lips would twitch into a small smile, as they usually did when he was reluctantly amused.

“It’s not your fault, Dean,” Castiel said, quietly and more soberly. “Stop blaming yourself.”

“Pretty sure we’re just arguing semantics now, Cas, because if I’m Michael and Michael is me, that means it’s still my fault.”

“You are not Michael, Dean. Maybe you used to be… but you aren’t him anymore. You’ve changed. You’re human.”

“That doesn’t mean shit if I’m just gonna lose control again and snap and go on some crazy angel killing spree-” Dean’s breaths were coming faster and faster now as he got more agitated. He sounded as though he was speaking through gritted teeth. “Cas, it’s hopeless… I thought- I thought I could fight it… but I can’t, can I?”

There was a rustling of clothing as Dean pushed himself off the floor. Castiel tensed slightly, concerned.

“I’m not really human, no matter how much I try to deny it. And I’m going to turn back into Michael again, no matter what I try to do.” As he spoke, Dean’s voice grew more distant. By the sound of it, he had stood up and walked over to the sink. “I can’t win… There’s no way I can win…”

“That’s not true—” Castiel said, but then there was an alarming shattering noise, followed by the tinkle of falling glass, and the sound of Dean cursing.

Dean had punched the mirror. He had hurt himself.

Suddenly, Castiel did not care at all whether Dean would be angry with him for disrespecting his self-imposed exile. Dean was _hurt_.

A flap of his wings brought him into the bathroom.

In what remained of the mirror, Dean’s reflection looked up, startled, at Castiel’s sudden appearance. Their eyes met in the cracked glass. Dean’s green eyes were wide, slightly rimmed with red from crying.

Dean was gripping the sink hard with both hands. Blood was dripping slowly down into the sink from his right hand where the skin of his knuckles was split, cut by the glass. The red swirls of Dean’s blood were stark against the white ceramic of the basin.

Castiel took Dean’s injured hand in his, cradling it gently in both his hands.

“Dean, I know that you’re unhappy, but I wish you wouldn’t hurt yourself,” he said softly as he let his grace wind its way into Dean’s flesh, soothing away the pain and healing the wound.

Dean had turned around to face him by then. His eyes were large and sad. “Cas…”

Another flap of Castiel’s wings brought them to Dean’s bed, both of them kneeling on the covers, Dean’s right hand still clutched in Castiel’s hands.

Dean’s eyes glinted with unshed tears.

Drawing a shaky breath, he said, “Gabriel was right, I’m nothing but a puppet, trying to be a real boy. Michael’s the real thing, and I’m just the shadow. I’m not real, Cas, even if I might think I am. I’m just an illusion.”

Castiel looked at his face, so beloved and so human, and said, “You’re real to me, Dean.”

Looking away, Dean dashed his left hand against his eyes. Then he turned back to face Castiel. “I’ve been having dreams. Dreams about Michael.”

Dean paused, breathing heavily, as if steeling himself. “It’s been coming back in bits and pieces… his memories. I didn’t want to tell you or Sam, because I knew you guys would freak out. I didn’t want you to worry.”

Castiel felt a horrible ache at the thought of Dean suffering quietly, trying to stay strong so that Castiel and Sam wouldn’t worry.

He was unable to stop his tone from coming out reproving, “You shouldn’t have done that, Dean. Don’t shut us out- we want to help you—”

“Yes, yes, I know,” Dean said, sounding annoyed, but then his tone softened. “I know you guys just wanna help. And I appreciate that. I really do.”

He scrubbed a hand across his face. His expression was tense and incredibly weary. “I can tell you one thing, Cas. What your dick brother, Gabriel, said? It’s all true. Michael wanted the Apocalypse to happen. He orchestrated everything. And you know what the worst thing is?”

Dean’s expression was filled with misery. “Sam is Lucifer’s true vessel. And if Sam refused to play along like a good little vessel, Michael was going to force him to accept Lucifer. Get his underlings to pump Sam full of demon blood and torture him till he said yes.”

Castiel squeezed Dean’s hand comfortingly, but Dean’s gaze was distant, clouded with pain, and Castiel wondered if he even saw Castiel’s face or if the only things he saw now were Michael’s memories.

“The Apocalypse would happen, Michael would fight Lucifer to the death, kill Sam and half the planet in the process. Maybe he would have felt a tinge of regret, but he would have done it anyway. Because God had commanded it and he was a good son. And the clincher? He truly believed that what he was doing was _right_.”

Dean looked down at his hands, but then his gaze darted back up to Castiel. “You know, I saw you too. In those dreams. I remember Lucifer’s defeat and my- Michael’s grand speech about casting him down into the Pit. And you- you were there. You looked at me as though I was a _monster_ -” Dean’s voice broke, and Castiel’s breath caught. Dean looked away, unable to continue.

When Dean looked back up, his eyes were filled with self-loathing. “And this is what I’m going to become. What I’m _destined_ to become.”

A single tear slid down Dean’s cheek even as he laughed, bitter and broken, his lips twitching into a humorless smile. “I guess free will is an illusion after all.”

“No,” Castiel said, desperation seeping into his tone, “That’s not true. Dean, there is always a choice.”

“There’s no point in fighting. There’s no way to win. I’m just a shell, just the stupid human that Michael fell and became. And now the shell is cracking—and Michael’s coming back. I won’t be me for much longer, Cas.”

“No,” Castiel said, firm and resolute, as if by saying it, he could make it true. “No.”

Another tear slipped down Dean’s cheek. “I always thought I’d die bloody. Some monster’s claws in my heart. Never thought it’d end like this. And I’m not dying, not really. I’m just turning into an angel. But that’s a form of death all the same. The part of me that’s _me_ will be dead.”

He bowed his head, shaking with the force of his sobs as he covered his face with his hands. It was as if a dam had broken and all of Dean’s misery had come pouring out.

Castiel wrapped Dean in his arms, pulling Dean in close against his chest. He could feel the wetness of Dean’s tears seeping into the cotton of his dress shirt. Dean was shaking violently, making awful gasping noises. He clutched at Castiel desperately, like Castiel was his only lifeline. His fingers were clenched on the material of Castiel’s shirt, bunching up the tear-soaked cloth. Castiel held him tighter, stroking his fingers through Dean’s short hair.

Unbidden, his wings unfolded themselves. They spread to enclose Dean within their span, an unconscious mimicry of the way Castiel held Dean tight in his arms—as though by sheltering Dean in his wings, Castiel could protect him from all the hurts of the world.

For a long while, they knelt there on the bedspread, Dean shaking in Castiel’s arms, surrounded by the warm cocoon of Castiel’s wings. Eventually Dean’s shaking began to lessen, his sobs fading.

“I’m scared, Cas,” Dean said. His voice was barely more than a whisper. “I’m so scared. I don’t wanna go.”

It made something deep in Castiel’s essence hurt, so very terribly, hearing Dean admit that.

“I won’t let you go, Dean,” Castiel said fiercely, “I won’t let them have you.”

He lifted Dean’s face up with gentle hands, staring deep into Dean’s eyes. “If Heaven wants Michael, they’ll have to come through me first.”

Dean’s green eyes were wide and troubled. “But you’ll fall, won’t you? For turning against Heaven. You’ll lose your powers. You’ll become human. Just like what happened to Michael... to me.”

“Not exactly,” Castiel said. “It’s a different kind of falling. Michael was reborn human, without any of his memories. For him, it happened in an instant. For me, I will lose my grace gradually, and I will retain all my memories.”

Privately, Castiel felt a tremor of fear—his wings shuddered involuntarily at the thought of what would await him once he fell from grace. A human life, mortal and powerless… it was not a very pleasant thing to contemplate.

“So you’ll become human… and you’ll remember everything about what it was like to be an angel.” Dean shook his head, eyes sad. “Cas- I can’t—I can’t ask you to do this for me. It’s too much.”

Dean began to pull away from Castiel’s embrace, his gaze falling downwards. Castiel caught the subtle, minute shift in his eyes, as infinitesimal and fleeting as it was, a slow but growing distance, and he realized with instinctual certainty that Dean was beginning to close up, withdrawing into himself. Abruptly, he was reminded of Dean’s words, from what now seemed like a lifetime ago.

_Good things don’t happen… at least not in my experience._

Dean didn’t think he deserved to be saved.

The fierce, protective warmth that had been kindling in Castiel’s chest all along burst into brilliant life, flaring bright and intense, burning in him with a ferocity that would have matched the strongest of flames.

“You don’t have to ask me to do it. I’ll do it nonetheless, and you can’t stop me. There are more important things than being an angel. _You_ , Dean— _you_ are more important. You are worth it. You are worth _everything_.” And even as the words left his mouth, Castiel felt the undeniable truth in them, the immutable _fact_ of them, as real as the turning of the Earth, as inevitable as the changing of the seasons. He would rather have a mortal life, short, painful and bloody, than live forever, cold and untouchable, in a world without Dean’s laughter or smile.

Castiel could see the protest rising on Dean’s lips, but he didn’t give it a chance to form.

“I swear to you, Dean. I won’t let any of them have you. Heaven, Hell, Michael. I will do everything in my power to make sure that you stay yourself. For as long as I still draw breath, I will protect you. Nobody will make you do anything you don’t want to do.”

Dean looked at him, something soft and fragile in his eyes. The way he was gazing at Castiel, with so much warmth and affection, made Castiel never want to look away—not that he could have torn his gaze away even if he tried.

Then Dean’s lips twitched into a small smile. “Have you been reading Sam’s trashy romance novels? ‘For as long as I still draw breath’? Seriously, Cas. You know no one says that sorta shit in real life, right?”

Castiel knew for a fact that Sam owned no romance novels, trashy or otherwise, but by now he was familiar enough with Dean’s ways to tell that it was a joke.

His lips twitched into an answering smile.

Dean’s hand rose and suddenly, Castiel felt a warm touch on his wings. He gasped at the sudden sensation, meeting Dean’s gaze with eyes that were wide with shock.

No human should have been able to touch Castiel’s wings. They were the closest anything could come to a pure manifestation of Castiel’s grace, existing on an entirely different plane altogether.

… But Dean wasn’t entirely human, was he?

Dean was smiling softly. He trailed a finger down one of Castiel’s jet-black feathers. It was strange how the light touch of Dean’s fingers was somehow translating into an incredibly powerful sensation of pleasure, resonating all throughout Castiel’s grace.

Then again, an angel’s grace was everything that they were- the rough equivalent of the human soul. Perhaps it was not so strange after all, that Castiel would react this way to Dean’s touch, with everything that existed between them.

“I can see them,” Dean said quietly. “Your wings. I’ve been able to see them ever since the barn, when I tapped into Michael’s grace.”

He stroked a finger down Castiel’s feather once more, and Castiel struggled to contain the gasp that wanted to escape from his throat. “They’re beautiful.”

He laughed, and his smile was small and bittersweet. “Guess that’s one good thing that’s come out of this mess.”

Suddenly, Dean surged forward and then his lips were on Castiel’s. He kissed Castiel, urgent and desperate. His fingers threaded through Castiel’s wings, gripping the feathers firmly but not painfully. It sent heady shocks of pleasure through Castiel.

“Cas,” Dean panted, “Cas, please-” He kissed Castiel hungrily, and when he pulled back, Castiel could see that his eyes were dark with lust, the pupils so dilated that the black of them had nearly eclipsed the green of his iris. “I need you.”

Seeing Dean’s arousal did something strange to Castiel. Intense, foreign sensations were coursing through him. He could feel himself hardening, his borrowed flesh reacting to the intense stimulation that Dean was putting him through, the mounting desire that was surging up in him.

Dean’s hands were on him, tearing his tie off, unbuttoning his shirt. Dean lowered his mouth to Castiel’s shoulder, pressing little kisses to Castiel’s skin until he reached the area where Castiel’s wings met flesh.

Then he was licking at Castiel’s wings, letting his tongue linger as it traced each shaft of Castiel’s feathers, slow and exquisitely tortuous. His hand reached out, slipping into Castiel’s pants to stroke Castiel’s growing erection through the material of Castiel’s briefs, every touch intense even through the fabric.

Castiel shuddered, gasping. He could feel his control slipping. The light above them was starting to flicker alarmingly.

“Dean- wait-” Castiel tried to say, even as he was overcome by another wave of pleasure. He reached out and tugged Dean’s arm. “Dean— _stop_ —”

Dean froze. His face fell. “Oh. You don’t like it? I… I thought you did. The way you were looking at me. I’m- I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed—” He looked so chastised and distraught. He began to withdraw, moving away from Castiel.

“No, that’s not it.” Castiel sighed. He grabbed Dean by the arms before Dean could move away. “I do want you to continue… but…”

“Then what is it?”

“You remember what I told you? About angels and vessels? This body- it isn’t really me. It’s just a vessel.”

“Yeah,” Dean said, “You said Jimmy gave you his consent.” There was a stubborn look on his face. “Look, I don’t care if this isn’t really you. You could have twenty nipples and five heads and an asshole on each face, and I would still want you.”

Castiel’s true form had three heads, wings, and was as tall as the Chrysler Building. Yet even so, he was disturbed by Dean’s comment and the uncomfortably vivid imagery it conjured. For a moment, he just stared at Dean dazedly.

“Cas- please,” Dean said, “I just—I just want to feel like _me_ tonight.”

Dean looked so desperate, so hopeful, that for a moment, Castiel was tempted to just give in. It would be so easy, and what Dean had been doing earlier had felt so _good—_

But this wasn’t his body, it was Jimmy’s, and much as Dean obviously yearned for physical comfort, Castiel knew he couldn’t give it to him.

“This isn’t my body,” he said, “I’m sorry, Dean. I have no right to ask this of Jimmy, after everything he has already given up for me.”

Dean’s fingers clenched on the fabric of the bedspread, bunching it up. “Isn’t there any way you could- I dunno- take another body? Someone who’s already dead? Or in a coma? Couldn’t you…make your own body, or something?”

Castiel shook his head sadly. “I’m sorry,” he repeated.

Dean didn’t say anything, but Castiel could read the emotions on his face. Dean was struggling to contain his frustration. He was obviously extremely disappointed but trying his best to be understanding.

“It’s okay, Cas,” he said finally, voice soft, “We don’t need to do that. Just having you here is enough for me already. It’s more than I could ever ask for in this world.”

He smiled at Castiel, and he lifted a hand to cup Castiel’s cheek. The way he looked at Castiel, like Castiel was the most precious thing in the entire universe, was achingly sad and yet incredibly beautiful.

Castiel felt an incredible wave of emotion swamp him. He felt as though he could burst from all the love he felt for Dean—

_Oh for God’s sake_ , said Jimmy. _You are both such incredible_ idiots _. I can’t stand it anymore. Castiel, I give you my permission. Carte blanche, okay? Just stop waxing poetic and kiss him already. And uh, feel free to do whatever happens afterwards._

_Also, I’d like to clarify something. When I say ‘put me to sleep’, I mean the ‘sleep like the dead’ kind of sleep, not the ‘sleep but with occasional interruptions whenever you and Dean get especially lovey-dovey’ kind of sleep. Just saying._

Castiel’s shock must have shown on his face because Dean was looking at him worriedly. “What’s wrong, Cas?”

“It’s Jimmy,” Castiel said, still a little dazed from shock. “He is giving me permission to use his body to engage in sexual intercourse with you.”

Somehow, Dean managed to look extremely disturbed, extremely embarrassed, and extremely pleased, all at the very same time.

After some time, he finally settled on a mixture of emotions that seemed to be an even ratio of embarrassed and pleased. “Oh. Uh… tell him thanks?” Dean said, grinning sheepishly.

_You’re welcome_ , Jimmy said, and Castiel passed his message on to Dean.

“He isn’t going to watch, is he?” Dean said.

_Of course not!_ Jimmy’s mental voice was nearly a shout. _Castiel, put me back to sleep right now! Goodbye. I’m out. That’s it. Bye. And_ please _, for the love of God, make you sure you do a proper job this time!_

Castiel complied, stuffing Jimmy back down, as far as he could go.

“No, he isn’t,” Castiel informed Dean, “He seemed to be thoroughly distressed by the very thought of it.”

Dean smirked, some of his old playfulness slipping back into his grin. “Guess he doesn’t want to watch your angel sex tape.”

“ _Dean_ ,” Castiel sighed, resisting the very human urge to roll his eyes.

“Now, where were we?” Dean said. Then he was kissing Castiel again, hands all over Castiel’s wings, and Castiel’s erection, which had completely gone away in the intervening period, sprung right back into existence.

“Bring me my duffel,” Dean spared a few seconds away from kissing Castiel to command. He teased at Castiel’s lower lip, biting down lightly at the same time he reached down into Castiel’s briefs to roll Castiel’s balls in his hand.

Castiel bit down the cry that wanted to escape his lips. “Why don’t you get it?” he said, and his voice came out as more of a breathy gasp.

“Little busy here,” Dean said, smirking wickedly, “Unless you want me to stop?”

He licked a finger and then flicked one of Castiel’s feathers. He then made a show of running his wet finger all around the sides of Castiel’s feather, grinning all the while.

“Guh-” was all Castiel could say for a time before he managed to gasp out, “No, go on.”

As Dean kissed a long line down from Castiel’s jawline to his collarbone, Castiel reached out with his grace. Dean did something incredibly good with his tongue and abruptly the duffel zoomed across the room at high speed before slamming into Dean’s stomach with an audible thump.

“Oww,” Dean said. He sat up and gave Castiel an accusing look.

“My apologies,” Castiel said, “My aim was a little off. I was distracted.”

“I’ll take it as a compliment,” Dean said, before unzipping the bag and fishing out what Castiel slowly realized was a bottle of lube.

Dean smiled when he realized that Castiel was looking, a little sheepishly. “I got it after you came back. A little over-eager of me, perhaps, but I sure am glad I bought it now.”

“I’ve never done this before,” Castiel said. He couldn’t help but feel a flutter of anxiety. He wanted so much to please Dean, but he had no idea whether he would be able to. Dean said he was a natural at kissing, but he wasn’t sure if that extended to sex too.

“It’s okay,” Dean said, “I’ll show you how.”

Undoing Castiel’s pants, he pulled Castiel’s briefs down to reveal Castiel’s erection. Dean pulled himself out of his jeans as well. He was hard as well.

“Here, give me your hand.”

Dean uncapped the bottle of lube and poured a generous helping of it out onto Castiel’s palm. The liquid was pleasantly cool against his skin, almost tingly.

With a gentle hand on Castiel’s lower back, Dean pushed Castiel forward until their bodies were pressed together, cocks flush against each other. Dean guided Castiel’s hand towards both their erections, and Castiel shuddered at the cool touch of the lube against the sensitive skin of his cock.

Dean wrapped his fingers over Castiel’s hand, forming a circle that enclosed both their cocks. He began moving their hands up and down, slowly at first but then faster as Castiel’s breaths began to hitch, pleasure surging in him. The sensation was incredible, like nothing Castiel had ever experienced before.

“Good,” Dean whispered, “You’re doing so good, Cas.”

Then Dean’s other hand was reaching for Castiel’s wings, fingers burying themselves into the feathers. Castiel let out an actual gasp at this. He felt more than saw Dean’s grin.

“You liked that, didn’t you?”

Dean grabbed Castiel’s hand and stilled it, forcing Castiel to stop the delicious friction against their cocks. Castiel let out a grunt of protest, but then Dean stroked Castiel’s feathers again, soft and slow, drawing it out and doing it again and again, making Castiel keen, his hips bucking upwards involuntarily.

He could feel the pleasure cresting in him, the pressure building at the base of his spine. The orgasm was so near- he was teetering right on the edge of it—he just needed a little _more_ …

Castiel tried to move his hand again, wanting the hot, tight pressure that came from the movement of his and Dean’s fists, closed around their cocks, but Dean just smirked, keeping Castiel’s hand still.

“Dean, please…”

Dean grinned.

“You wanna come, Cas?”

“Yes, yes, I do,” Castiel panted.

“Then come for me,” Dean said, and he kissed Castiel, wet and sloppy and so incredibly hot. At the very same time he moved his and Castiel’s hands up and down their erections, quick, hard strokes that sent sparks of pleasure all through Castiel.

Dean was panting, making small gasping noises with each thrust of his hips. His fingers clenched around the hard bone of Castiel’s wing, and the sensation surged through Castiel, physical flesh and essence both, nearly overwhelming in its intensity.

“Come for me,” Dean repeated, a deep and commanding growl that sent an intense surge of pleasure straight to Castiel’s core.

With a cry, Castiel let himself go. It felt like his entire being was being suffused with pleasure, white-hot and intense. There was a brilliant burst of light and Castiel spilled his seed all over his and Dean’s fingers.

A moment later, Dean followed suit, closing his eyes and throwing his head back, yelling Castiel’s name as he came.

They lay on the motel bed, both panting heavily. Castiel’s fingers were sticky with both his and Dean’s come. Little aftershocks of pleasure still echoed through him, not quite as intense as the climax that came before them, but still enough to make Castiel lie there on the bed, overcome by sensation. Eventually, they faded and Castiel came back to himself sufficiently to realize that their motel room was now in complete darkness.

Suddenly, Dean laughed.

“Dude,” he said, wondering and amused. “You blew out the light.”

“Oh,” said Castiel, slightly embarrassed. “So I did.”

After a moment, he added, “Take it as a compliment.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

Castiel was watching Dean sleep, his fingers playing idly through Dean’s hair, when he felt it— the distinct presence of another angel. Castiel focused his senses, eyes narrowing, and he realized that there was not just one, but two angels.

Anna and Balthazar.

Tensing, Castiel let his angel blade materialize and drop into his hand.

A flap of his wings brought him to where Anna and Balthazar were, standing outside the motel, next to Dean’s beloved Impala.

“Anna. Balthazar,” Castiel greeted, eying the other two angels warily. He mentally prepared himself for an attack.

Anna and Balthazar were Castiel’s friends, and Castiel hated the thought of hurting them, but if they were to try to take Dean away, Castiel would force himself to fight them, no matter how much it pained him.

“Cassie!” said Balthazar, “Why the sour face? If I didn’t know any better, I’d almost say that you were… _displeased_ to see us.”

He arched an eyebrow at Castiel and then let his gaze drop pointedly to the angel blade in Castiel’s hand.

“Why are you here?” Castiel said. He did not lower his guard or put his blade away.

“I’m hurt, Castiel, really I am,” Balthazar said, but Anna cut him off. Her expression was solemn, her tone grave. “Castiel, Raphael sent us.”

Castiel tensed, fingers tightening around his blade. “You can’t have Dean—” he started to growl.

Balthazar rolled his eyes. “I knew it, I just knew it.” He turned to Anna, “I told you, Anna, didn’t I? Trashy romance novel. Our Cassie’s in love with Dean Winchester. And by the looks of it, they just had a _real_ _good time_ consummating their ‘ _more profound bond’_.”

Castiel’s long association with Dean had familiarized him with the nuances of innuendo, and Balthazar’s words were fairly dripping with them. Castiel could not help but feel slightly mortified, though he kept his face stony, letting none of his embarrassment show.

Anna ignored Balthazar.

“We haven’t come for Dean,” she said to Castiel, “Raphael sent us to check on you. He is getting suspicious of your lack of progress, especially after Uriel went missing. He thinks that you may have turned on us and killed Uriel.”

“Uriel betrayed us. He was working with demons to kill Dean,” Castiel said. “He was in league with Lucifer.”

“Where is he now?” Anna asked.

“He’s dead. Dean killed him. It was self-defense.”

“ _Dean_ killed him?” The look Balthazar gave Castiel was incredulous. “Dean’s still human, isn’t he? How did he do that?”

Castiel sighed. “He tapped into Michael’s grace.”

“So you do have the grace already,” Anna said.

Castiel’s wings rose threateningly. “You will not have Dean,” he repeated, glaring at Anna and Balthazar in turn.

Balthazar scoffed. In a tone of great exasperation, he said, “Take a chill pill, lover-boy. We’re not here to take your precious Dean away. In fact, the only reason why Raphael hasn’t been sending more angels after you- angels who aren’t actually _your_ _friends_ , I might add- is because _we_ have been covering for you.”

He paused for a few moments to let that sink in.

“Anna and I suspected that something of this nature might have happened, so we took a few precautions to ensure that Raphael and his minions wouldn’t notice anything awry. Or haven’t you wondered why nobody up in Heaven seems to have noticed the progress of your little love affair with Dean?”

He gave Castiel a pointed stare. “A little gratitude might be appropriate here.”

“Oh,” said Castiel, looking at Balthazar and Anna in turn. “Thank you. I appreciate your help.”

Balthazar huffed, but he nodded at Castiel, seemingly satisfied. Anna smiled. However, after a moment, her expression turned serious as she said, “Castiel, we can’t keep covering for you forever. This is the last time we’ll be able to return to Raphael with no results without him getting suspicious enough to send other angels here to check on you.”

She looked at him, expression grave. “Do you truly intend to turn your back on Heaven to save Dean Winchester? You realize what this will mean for you.”

“Yes,” Castiel said, “I will fall from grace.”

“Are you sure about this, Castiel?” Anna said, and Castiel realized there was concern in her eyes. Even Balthzar was looking solemn, worry in his eyes.

The two of them obviously cared deeply about what would happen to Castiel. They were _worried about him._

Suddenly, Castiel was overcome by an immense rush of gratitude for his friends.

He should never have doubted Anna or Balthazar—they were true friends, and they obviously cared very much about him, to the point of aiding Castiel in his disobedience, potentially at great cost to themselves.

Castiel nodded. “I am sure. I have never been surer of anything in my entire existence.”

Under his breath, Balthazar muttered, “ _Trashy romance novel_.”

“Shut up, Balthazar,” Anna said without heat. She was smiling. “I’m proud of you, Castiel.”

“You are?” Castiel said, surprised. For all that she had helped Castiel to cover up his betrayal of Heaven, Castiel had never expected Anna to actually _approve_. Tolerate, perhaps, because of her fondness for Castiel, but not actively approve.

Anna smiled. There was something slightly sad about it.

“I’ve never told anyone this, but I thought about falling too, once.”

Her voice grew distant as she slipped into memory, “I stood on one of this Earth’s highest peaks, cold and alone, inches away from cutting away my grace. The blade was in my hand. But in the end, something stopped me.

“Maybe it was the fear. The fear of falling. Of being alone. Cut off from the only family I ever knew. Even if it was a family that would have killed me for my lack of faith… for all the doubts I had… In the end, I put my blade away. I chose to stay.”

Anna laughed softly, a bittersweet smile ghosting over her lips.

“Just think- if circumstances had been different, I might have been the fallen angel you were sent to find. In my case though, I suspect the orders would have been very different. I’m no archangel. I’m not important to Heaven’s schemes. They would have ordered me killed as an abomination without batting an eye. But that’s all hypothetical anyway…”

Anna looked at Castiel, and her eyes were filled with understanding. “Now… I’m starting to think about falling again. Castiel, if you’re going to defy Raphael, you won’t be doing it alone.”

“Yeah, Cassie, we’re entirely with you,” Balthazar said. He grinned. “I never liked Heaven much anyway. It’s boring up there. I much prefer it down here.”

He lowered his voice, tone turning secretive. “Now that we’re sharing all our deep, dark secrets, I’ll let you guys in on mine. You know the Weapons of God in Heaven’s Armory? The Staff of Moses, Salt of Lot, and suchlike?” Balthazar paused for a beat. “I may have… helped myself to a few.”

“Balthazar!” Castiel said. “You—”

“Yes, yes, I know, very, very naughty of me. I’ve been an _incredibly_ bad boy.” Balthazar smirked, completely unrepentant. “I’d been thinking about leaving Heaven for a while. So I started a little collection… insurance for when I finally faked my death and skipped town. I was going to make my escape a little later, but it seems that I must speed up my plans before Raphael discovers our ruse.”

Balthazar’s expression sobered. “Anyway, Cassie. One lone little malakh fighting against Raphael and all the might of Heaven to save one human? It’s terribly romantic and all… very noble, very touching, would make a terrific feature film, and I assure you I am absolutely _sobbing_ on the inside… but it is also incredibly, incredibly _stupid_.”

Glaring, Castiel opened his mouth to protest, but Balthazar just continued right over him, waving one hand airily at Castiel, “It’s okay. I know. Love makes fools of us all. Well, the thing is— as matters stand, you and Dean don’t have a snowball’s chance in Hell of resisting Raphael and Heaven. But with my help, that might just change…”

He paused dramatically, and Castiel sighed. He asked the question that he knew Balthazar wanted him to ask, “And what exactly would this entail?”

“The weapons, Cassie,” said Balthazar, grinning, “Because I’m such a good friend, and also such a great believer in true romance, I’m going to give some of them to you. I’m keeping a few for myself, you understand. If I’m going to be on the lam from Heaven, I’ll be needing some extra firepower. But otherwise, you can have them all. Free and with no conditions attached.”

He beamed at Castiel. “Am I or am I not your best ever friend, Castiel?”

Castiel gaped at him, speechless.

“I’m going to infer from your uncannily goldfish-like expression that you have been struck dumb from overwhelming gratitude. You’re welcome, Cassie.”

Balthazar pressed a slip of paper into Castiel’s palm. “Here. The location of most of the weapons and instructions on how to get past my wards.”

Castiel looked at the slip of paper and then at Balthazar. “Balthazar—how can I—how can I ever—”

Balthazar smiled, warm and sincere and without a trace of sarcasm, “Just keep safe, Castiel. And be happy with Dean Winchester. We’ll probably never see each other again after we do this, so think of this as my farewell present, alright?”

Castiel let his gratitude show in the smile he gave Balthazar. “I’ll miss you, you annoying little ‘pain in my ass’.”

“I’ll miss you too, you prig,” said Balthazar, grinning back. “Well, I’ll be making a move now. I’ve got to get clear of the blast radius before Raphael decides to get smitey. All the best, Castiel.” He turned to Anna. “And you too, Anna. Have fun being human. The sex is the best bit, take it from an expert.”

“Goodbye, Balthazar. I’ll keep that in mind,” said Anna, smiling fondly. Balthazar gave her a cheeky wink, waved at Castiel, and then vanished, leaving only the fading sound of his wing beats.

Anna turned back to Castiel.

“So you’re going to fall now?” Castiel asked.

“Yes, I am,” said Anna, and there was something incredibly peaceful and content about her expression. “Farewell, Castiel. I’m glad you’ve found it within yourself to choose free will, even if you came to find it in the most unorthodox of ways.”

She touched a hand to Castiel’s shoulder, gentle and warm. “It’s been a real journey for you. Pretending to be human, falling in love with Dean Winchester. Then choosing to turn against everything you know to fight for him. You’ve grown so much, Castiel, and I just want you to know— I’m honored to have been able to call you my friend.”

Castiel looked at her, emotion surging in him. “And I you, Anna.”

Anna smiled. “Look to the skies tonight for a shooting star, brother. Maybe you’ll see me.”

With a flutter of wings, she was gone.

A few minutes later, Castiel watched a star fall, burning bright through the night sky overhead, and he smiled.

 

\---

 

It was mid-morning when Sam came back from sorting out the mess with Alicia Lawson and her daughter.

Castiel had just finished telling him about Balthazar and Anna’s visit.

“So these… heavenly weapons your friend stole...they’re really powerful, right?” Sam said, leaning back against the hood of the Impala. “And you think you could use them to help protect us from the angels?”

“Yes,” Castiel replied.

“That’s wonderful news!” Sam said. He snatched up the piece of paper that Balthazar had passed to Castiel.

His brows furrowed. “I can’t read this. Is it some kind of code?”

“It’s Enochian, the angelic language,” Castiel said. “Basically, Balthazar left me instructions on how to find the weapons and get past the wards he set.”

“Oh,” said Sam, “That’s awesome. We should go now.” He threw a glance towards their motel room. “Why don’t you go in and wake Dean up? We can set off in like, fifteen, if Dean hurries it up. Hey, you can fly us there, right? Wherever it is.”

Castiel shook his head. “I’m afraid it isn’t that easy, Sam. The place where the weapons are stored is warded against angelic flight. And there are runes there, designed to confuse our senses. The only way we’ll get there is by conventional human means. Also, the defensive wards are keyed to only be breakable on the night of a full moon. Balthazar was very thorough in his protections. The next full moon is approximately three weeks away.”

Sam’s face fell. “Damn. That’s long. Ah well. Guess Dean will be happy about driving there since it means he gets to take his car. He always whines when you fly us around.”

Castiel smiled, fondness creeping into his expression. “Dean does love his car very much.”

Smiling too, Sam gave the Impala a fond pat. “Yeah. He sure does.”

After a moment, he said suddenly, “Hey, I realized I never did say this… but, thanks. Thanks for everything you’re doing for Dean.”

Sam’s smile was warm and filled with sincere gratitude.

“I know you really love him, Cas. That’s good. Sometimes I wish there were more people around who could see just how great a person Dean is. He doesn’t really show it, but I know he doesn’t always think the best of himself. He acts like he doesn’t care and he plays the arrogant jerk, but he can be pretty insecure sometimes—”

Sam paused. He threw Castiel a nervous glance. “Don’t tell him I said that, ‘kay?”

Castiel nodded and Sam’s smile returned.

“Anyway, I’m glad he has you around,” Sam said, “I’m his brother and I love him, but sometimes, that’s not enough. Dean deserves to have someone in his life who loves him as wholeheartedly as you do.”

That said, Sam clapped Castiel on the back warmly and nodded, smiling. He didn’t wait for a response before heading off in the direction of his motel room, leaving Castiel standing beside the Impala, feeling floored and strangely touched.

It was good to know that there was someone else who cared for Dean as much as he did. Whatever happened, at least Sam would always have Dean’s back.

 

\---

 

Over the next few days, Castiel was extra vigilant in making sure the Winchesters kept up the full suite of anti-angel measures. Once Balthazar and Anna’s disappearance came to light, Raphael would become aware of the full extent of their deception. He would learn of Castiel’s defection, and he would start sending angels after them.

Castiel would take no chances with that. He asked the Winchesters if they knew a safe place where they could hole up for the time in which they were waiting for the full moon.

Sam and Dean looked at each other. “Bobby,” they said, almost at the same time.

Bobby Singer, Castiel recalled from his talks with Dean, was an old friend of the family—a gruff old hunter whom John Winchester had often dropped his sons off with when they were younger. Dean and Sam obviously had great fondness for the man.

The Winchesters turned up at Bobby’s house, Castiel in tow, and Dean proceeded to have a somewhat awkward conversation with the old hunter as he tried to explain to Bobby why they needed to stay with him for a few weeks.

“Angels, eh?” Bobby said, raising an eyebrow at Castiel. “This guy, I can still believe. He has the look.” He turned to Dean. “But you? Boy, I’ve seen you eat dirt and run around my front yard in your birthday suit. Pretty hard to think of you as an angel. Much less Saint Michael the Archangel, Commander of the Heavenly Host and Prince of Heaven.”

“Well, believe it or not, that’s apparently who I am, Bobby,” Dean said with a rueful grin and a shrug.

His mouth still twitching in an incredulous smile, Bobby shook his head. “Weirder things have happened, I guess. You boys can stay with me. I suppose I can afford to feed a few extra freeloaders.”

“Thanks, Bobby,” Sam said, smiling. “You’re the best.”

“Idjits,” said Bobby, and then he made them all bacon, eggs, and coffee. It was surprisingly good.

 

\---

 

Castiel warded up Bobby’s house until it was nearly hidden under the glow of all the Enochian sigils he had placed on it. The only way anything of a supernatural persuasion would be able to enter it was if they were extremely powerful, like an archangel, or keyed into the wards, as Castiel himself was.

Bobby’s house even had a fully functional ‘panic room’ that was heavily warded against demons and spirits, which Bobby had apparently built during a weekend off from hunting. All Castiel had to do was add some additional warding to make it angel-proof as well. All in all, Bobby’s house was as ideal a place for them to be hiding from Raphael and his cohorts as could be found on such short notice.

“Practically the Fort Knox of anti-supernatural security,” Dean had said proudly after surveying Castiel’s work. “Good job, Cas.”

He treated Castiel to a small smile that made Castiel preen inside, the small feathers of his wings fluffing up most embarrassingly, which in turn caused Dean to start smirking. Bobby had given them a strange look for that, one eyebrow slowly rising up.

 

\---

 

Castiel had forbidden both Winchesters from leaving Bobby’s property and the confines of the protective wards. Dean, whose attention span when not focused on a case could at best be described as lamentably poor, was bored to tears within days.

At first, Dean had been content to lounge around the house, chatting with Bobby, watching daytime television and drinking Bobby’s alcohol, as well as tinkering around in Bobby’s garage whenever the mood struck him.

However, eventually even Dr. Sexy M.D. and all the beers and pie Castiel could find him were not enough to keep Dean occupied. Sam was happy to stay in the house, reading his way through Bobby’s collection of supernatural lore, but Dean kept pacing around like a caged animal. It appeared that the ‘cabin fever’, as the humans called it, was setting in.

Dean kept pestering Castiel about taking a quick trip out for a nearby hunt, whining constantly about not being out there and doing his job. It was not surprising that Dean, being so used to spending his life hopping from one hunt to another, was going stir crazy from the enforced inactivity.

It was only after the fourth day that Castiel discovered a good way to keep Dean occupied and happy. In hindsight, it was so simple and obvious a solution that Castiel wondered why he hadn’t thought of it sooner.

“Dude,” said Dean as Castiel mouthed down the trail of fine hair that led to his cock, “If you wanted to keep me captive as your personal sex slave, all you had to do was say—”

Then he was saying nothing but Castiel’s name as Castiel swallowed him down, practicing the new techniques that Dean had showed him just the other night. Castiel bobbed his head up and down, his hands tight on Dean’s hips to keep him still as Castiel licked and sucked his way down the hard length of Dean’s cock.

“Oh my god, you’re so good, so fucking good. Fuck, fuck, fuck—” Then Dean was dissolving into wordless cries, eventually coming with a shout down Castiel’s throat.

Dean had been very much on board with Castiel’s program of indoors entertainment after that. Castiel discovered the joys of shower sex, Dean going down on him in the shower cubicle as water cascaded down their bare skin, making Castiel whimper, gritting his teeth to keep silent, eventually coming with a muffled cry.

They took the time to explore each other’s bodies- Castiel had no idea that human bodies could be so _sensitive_ , and for his part, Dean had discovered a newfound love for blowjobs, especially after he realized that Castiel had no gag reflex to speak of. Both of them loved it when Dean played with Castiel’s wings.

The only downside to all of this was the morning when Dean and Castiel had gone downstairs to the kitchen after a particularly energetic bout of what Dean liked to call ‘fucking great sex’, but Castiel preferred to refer to as ‘lovemaking’—a term that Dean for some reason kept teasing him endlessly for using.

Bobby and Sam were at the dining table, talking and eating their breakfast. When Dean and Castiel entered the room, the conversation suddenly died.

“Morning,” Sam squeaked, his voice a lot higher than usual. His cheeks were flaming red. He darted a glance at Dean and Castiel’s astonished faces before abruptly staring down at his bowl of cornflakes as if they contained all the secrets of the universe.

“Dean,” Bobby greeted as he looked at each of them in turn. “Castiel.”

He paused, seemingly steeling himself for something. Then he said, “Look, I’ve had this place for a long time, and I’m very familiar with all the rooms and suchlike. So I’m gonna do you a favor and tell you to stay away from the guestroom that’s third from the left on the second floor from now on—because let me tell you… the sound carries very well from there.”

He gave them a meaningful look. “Very, very well.”

“Oh god,” Castiel heard Dean groan quietly. “Just kill me now.”

“And I’m really happy for you two,” Bobby continued on staunchly, “But there are some things I’d much rather go without knowing. Or hearing. If you know what I mean.”

He looked meaningfully at Castiel, one eyebrow raised.

The penny, as the humans would say, finally dropped.

Castiel fought down his rising mortification. “It won’t happen again,” he assured Bobby.

Bobby grunted. “See that it doesn’t.”

Beside him, Castiel could feel Dean quietly dying of shame.

Dean had been leery of any more sexual activity for a few days after that, but eventually Castiel had been able to assuage his concerns by promising to enact Enochian sigils for silence around Dean’s room. There were some perks, as Dean would say, to being an angel.

One lazy Thursday afternoon, they lay together in Dean’s bed, Dean snuggled against Castiel’s chest, playing idly with the feathers of the wing that Castiel had clumsily draped over him. Sunlight streamed in from the windows, the bright golden light highlighting the dust motes that slowly drifted through the air and the fine hairs on Dean’s bare chest. Where the sunlight hit Castiel’s wings, his jet-black feathers shone with an ethereal inner light.

“Cas,” Dean said suddenly, breaking the silence. He turned over so that he was able to look Castiel in the eyes. “Have you ever thought about what you’ll do if we win? If we manage to defeat Raphael and get the angels to stop coming after me?”

Castiel looked at him. Dean appeared to be in one of his reflective, sentimental moods. His brows were slightly furrowed, his expression pensive.

“Will you go back to Heaven then? I mean, there’ll be no need to protect me anymore. And you won’t have to fall, you’ll be able to stay an angel.”

Dean’s fingers continued to stroke through Castiel’s feathers, gentle and slow. He seemed to be a little nervous. Abruptly, Castiel remembered what Sam had said about Dean being ‘pretty insecure sometimes’.

“I suppose… after we win, I’ll have to leave this vessel,” Castiel said contemplatively, “I did make a promise to let Jimmy go once you are safe.”

Dean’s fingers stilled.

“But I won’t leave you, Dean,” Castiel said firmly, “No matter what it takes, I will find a way to come back to you. I made you a promise, remember? I’ll protect you, for as long as I still live.”

Castiel smiled at Dean, reaching out to brush the back of his fingers against Dean’s cheek, tenderness surging in him. “I’ll take another vessel. I’ll cut out my grace and fall if I have to.”

Dean raised an eyebrow at him. “Won’t you become a baby? Dude, don’t make me a pedophile.”

Castiel chuckled at Dean’s crooked grin. “No, Dean. I don’t intend to become a human infant. I don’t ever want to forget you.”

He smiled at Dean, warm and soft. “I don’t know how I’ll do it, but I’ll make it happen somehow. I’ll become human and I’ll be with you. I want to be able to touch you with my own fingers, feel you with my own skin. Kiss you with my own lips…”

Suddenly, Castiel could see a lifetime stretching out ahead of him in the golden sunlight of that Thursday afternoon—

Him and Dean and Sam, hunting together, getting into scrapes, patching each other up. Sam would leave them someday, start the normal life he always wanted, a wife and children- little nieces and nephews whom Dean would adore and spoil rotten. Castiel and Dean would continue hunting together, just the two of them, side by side. They’d have each other’s backs.

Of course, Castiel and Dean would have to retire too once they got older and the physical toll of the hunting life became too much for them. Dean would never truly want to leave hunting behind, so they’d stay in touch with the hunting community. Perhaps they would provide advice and support like Bobby did, run a few phone lines, do a little research on the side.

But they’d have a home of their own. No more motels and cheap diners. No more living on the road. They’d get a house for themselves. Maybe even open a quaint little bed and breakfast somewhere… perhaps Vermont? Castiel knew that Dean had always secretly fancied the idea, deep down inside.

They’d build a life together. Grow old together. Eventually they’d die, as all humans did, but that was something Castiel was willing to accept, if it meant he could have everything that came before it—if it meant that he could have Dean.

“I love you, Dean,” Castiel said, and then he realized that it was the first time he had ever said it out loud, even though he had always thought it and it guided every action he took. But maybe… maybe Dean needed to hear it too.

Dean looked at him, eyes widening and filling with emotion.

“I… I love you too, Cas,” he said, soft and hesitant at first but then with growing conviction. “I love you so much.”

He looked so beautiful then, so precious, that the only thing that Castiel could do in that moment was take Dean’s face in his hands and kiss him, slow and sweet, the sunlight limning their skin a bright, brilliant gold as they came together as one.


	11. Chapter 11

**_Part IV- Heaven Can Wait_ **

**Chapter 11**

They were in Bobby’s scrapyard, and Dean was trying to show Castiel how to fix a car.

It was just three days to the full moon, and they would be setting off to find Balthazar’s weapon cache soon, but in the meantime, Dean was attempting to further Castiel’s human education by teaching him important life skills, like how to take care of a car.

At that moment, Dean was lying underneath an old Ford, tinkering with the car while keeping up a steady stream of commentary. His T-shirt had ridden up some time ago while he was working, revealing the tanned skin and hard muscles of his stomach. It didn’t help at all that Dean was covered in motor grease and his skin shone with sweat from all the work he had been doing.

This was making it rather more difficult than anticipated for Castiel to concentrate on Dean’s impromptu car maintenance lesson as he went on about things like drive shafts and horsepower and the importance of using enough lubricant.

It was only after Dean called his name for the third time that Castiel realized that he hadn’t been listening to Dean’s lecture at all for the past few minutes.

Dean had pulled himself out from underneath the car, and he was grinning at Castiel knowingly. He looked insufferably smug.

“Like what you see?” he said with a wink, and Castiel blushed. He had no doubt that his cheeks were burning a shade of red bright enough to rival the filling of those cherry pies that Dean so loved eating.

“Y’know, Cas,” Dean said, smirking. There was a hint of something like… _promise_ in his bright green eyes. “Car sex is totally a thing—”

There came the crunch of footfalls on gravel.

“I’m gonna do us all a favor and pretend I didn’t just hear that,” Sam said. One of his eyebrows was raised. “Anyway, I came out to tell you that Bobby’s gonna be gone for a while. He said he was heading out to grab us some wings and beer.”

Dean glared at him, displeased. “You’re a walking cockblock, Sam. It’s like you’ve got a special radar for whenever I’m about to get some, and you just _have_ to come and interrupt.”

“Perks of being a little brother, I guess?” Sam shrugged, his lips twitching into a grin.

“Just for that, I’m gonna make you watch while I make out with Cas,” Dean declared. Castiel raised an eyebrow, but did not resist as Dean, smirking, tugged him closer.

However, before Dean could make good on his threat, his phone started ringing. Dean groaned.

“Or maybe you could just pick up your phone,” Sam said, grinning.

Fishing his phone out of his pocket, Dean pointed one finger at Sam. “Just you wait, Sam. Just you wait.”

He flipped open his cell and put it to his ear. “Hey Jo, what’s up?”

Jo’s voice came over the speakers of the phone, tinny and distorted, but still clear to Castiel’s angelic hearing.

“Dean…” she said, voice trembling.

She sounded as though she was struggling to stop herself from crying.

Instantly, all mirth disappeared from Dean’s expression. “Jo, what is it?” he said, voice low and serious. “What’s wrong?”

Sam jerked up to his full height, worry blooming on his face.

Meeting Sam’s eyes, Dean lifted the phone away from his ear and pressed a button. The noises coming out from the phone were amplified, the conversation becoming far more audible to human hearing.

“The Roadhouse… it’s gone. Everyone’s… gone.” Jo was crying in earnest now, pitiful, gasping sobs.

“Hey, Jo—Jo, it’s okay,” Dean said. His voice was pitched low and comforting, but Castiel could see the tension in his expression. “Just take deep breaths, okay? Breathe with me. Like this—” Dean breathed in and out loudly, and Jo tried to mimic him, taking shaky, gasping breaths. Eventually, her sobs stopped and the pace of her breathing slowed.

“Why don’t you start from the beginning?” Dean said.

Jo swallowed hard; Castiel could hear the rasping of her throat. “Ash got very excited over something this morning… Something about a demon that you guys asked him to help track? He said he was gonna call you-”

“Son of a _bitch_ ,” Dean cursed, low and with feeling.

“- but he hasn’t, has he?” Jo said, and Castiel could hear the sorrow in her voice. “He’s probably dead-” Her breath hitched, and Castiel thought that she was going to start crying again, but Jo swallowed the sob and continued on, “Just like everyone else. I just nipped out to get some pretzels—Mom had been yelling at me to get them for ages—” and at this, Jo stopped, unable to continue anymore because of the sobs that had overtaken her.

“Is your mom fine, Jo?” Dean said. Then when Jo did not answer, he repeated, more urgently, “Jo! Is your mom fine?”

“She’s hurt, Dean,” Jo finally said, “Hurt real bad…. I don’t—I don’t know if she’ll make it…” She paused, before saying, voice small, “Dean… I don’t know what to do. I— I need your help.”

“Fuck,” Dean swore. “I’m on my way.”

He put his phone away and turned to Castiel. “Can you take us to the Roadhouse?”

Castiel was about to nod, but then something occurred to him. “Dean, perhaps you should stay behind. It would not be wise for you to leave the confines of the wards. We don’t have the weapons. If Raphael were to find us…”

“The hell am I sitting this one out,” Dean said vehemently, “It’s the thing that killed my mom. And Sam’s girl, Jess. And now it’s hurt our friends— Jo needs me, Cas. Anyway, I’ve got those rib things you did, don’t I? I can stay outside for a few minutes. Jo’s traumatized enough already. She doesn’t need you suddenly popping out from thin air and trying to do your weird finger thingy on her and her mom.”

“I will attempt to be delicate,” Castiel said.

“Yeah, I’ve seen your attempts to be ‘delicate’, Cas,” Dean said, “I don’t think that poor witness you tried to interview is ever going to be the same.”

He gave Castiel an impatient look. “C’mon. Just friggin’ take us there already. Every second we stand here yammering on is another second Ellen is closer to being _dead_.” He jerked his head towards Castiel insistently, one eyebrow raised.

“Very well,” Castiel agreed, somewhat reluctantly.

He placed a hand on each Winchester brother’s shoulder, and they disappeared from Singer’s Salvage Yard in a flutter of wings.

Dean was probably right. Balthazar always did say Castiel had a tendency to worry needlessly.

 

\---

 

They found Jo amidst the ashes and rubble of the Roadhouse.

Her eyes were wide and sightless, staring at nothing. She lay at the feet of a man clad in a black business suit. Her mother was next to her. They had both been dead for hours.

The man was smiling.

“Hello, Dean,” Zachariah said pleasantly, “We’ve been waiting for you.”

They were surrounded on all sides by angels, all of them clad in suits, their faces like cold marble statues. Castiel could count at least eight angels, not including Zachariah.

Zachariah opened his mouth and Jo’s voice came out, broken and plaintive, “ _She’s hurt, Dean… Hurt real bad... I—I need your help._ ” Zachariah chuckled. “Oh, if only we had thought to try this sooner.”

He _tsk_ -ed, shaking his head mockingly, “It’s so easy to fool you humans. You’re so… sentimental. Must be all those chemicals, sloshing around in your tiny little monkey brains.” He sighed in exaggerated pity. “It’s painful, Dean. Looking at you. Knowing that you were once our _leader_. Well, we’ll soon correct this emotional defect of yours. It’s time to get rid of the shoddy knock-off and bring the real thing back.”

“I’ll kill you for this, you fucking bastard,” Dean’s fists were clenched so tightly that the skin of his knuckles showed white. He was practically spitting with rage. “You’re gonna pay for what you did. I swear to you. I’m gonna make you _pay_.”

“Ah, promises, promises,” said Zachariah, “You’ll feel differently, once I get you set to rights. After all, what are a couple of human lives in the grand scheme of things? Those sniveling apes were in my way, so I removed them. It was only natural. You know what I mean. Or at least…” Zachariah smiled at Dean, an anticipatory gleam building in his eyes, “…you _will_ know what I mean, once I get your grace back into you.”

Castiel lunged forward to grab the Winchesters, wings outspread, but as he tried to fly, he hit something—an impenetrable barrier that resisted all his attempts to push through it. Enochian sigils, Castiel realized, to prevent flight.

Zachariah had been well prepared. He had ensured that there was no way to escape.

“Ah, Castiel,” Zachariah said. “The _traitor_.” His gaze was on Castiel, cold and disdainful, Castiel’s movement having drawn his attention. “We thought that you’d joined Lucifer, but you turned on us for-” He gestured at Dean, sneering, “-this pitiful meat sack of self-loathing and daddy issues? _Please_ , Castiel. Have some _standards_.”

“Don’t you dare speak of Dean like that. He is worth more than ten of Michael,” Castiel said fiercely. His angel blade slid into his hand; he threw himself into battle with a savage ferocity that surprised even himself.

Before they could react, Castiel had already downed two of Zachariah’s lackeys. He ducked the third’s blow, spinning in one smooth motion and stabbing the unfortunate angel in the throat. She burned out in a flare of grace.

Castiel belatedly recognized her as Remiel, a malakh like himself. She had brought Castiel a flower once, from Earth. A primrose. She had been so excited. She had said she thought Castiel would like it.

Castiel forced himself not to think about it. He had to concentrate on the battle, on staying alive.

Out of the corner of his eye, he also saw Dean and Sam fighting.

They had already armed themselves with the blades of the two angels that Castiel had first slain. For now, they were just barely holding their own, the angels being too surprised to unleash their true strength- they probably had not expected humans to actually dare to fight them. But that wouldn’t last for long. And while the angels were undoubtedly prohibited from killing Dean, that wouldn’t stop them from maiming him to prevent his escape.

“How _dare_ you?” Zachariah said, his face an ugly mask of rage. “You’ll pay for your insolence, Castiel.”

Castiel knew he could never best Zachariah in a fight. Zachariah was a seraph and Castiel a mere malakh. But at the very least, Castiel could still distract him, hold him off long enough for Dean and Sam to make their escape.

“Dean!” Castiel cried, “Get out of here! You and Sam need to go! Now!”

Steeling himself, Castiel lunged at Zachariah. His blade whistled through empty air as Zachariah dodged away easily, a coldly serene smile on his face.

“You can’t win this fight,” Zachariah said, and then he was coming at Castiel. “You don’t stand a chance against me.”

Castiel dodged his strike to the heart, but he was a little too slow. Zachariah’s blade scored a line in his side, a searing flare of hurt in Castiel’s grace.

“You’re so weak. It’s obvious how pathetically hopeless this is.”

Zachariah’s blade bit into Castiel’s grace again, the flesh of his right thigh, making Castiel grunt in agony.

“And yet you still persist in throwing yourself at me. Like a mouse trying to fight a lion.”

A quick slash and Castiel was bleeding from the chest. Zachariah’s next strike left a line of fiery hurt across Castiel’s abdomen. Castiel stumbled, the agony making him slow in dodging Zachariah’s next blow, and pain flared in his left wing as Zachariah grabbed him roughly by it.

“You know, Castiel, your devotion to Dean Winchester would almost be touching…” Zachariah’s tone was conversational, almost pleasant, “…if it wasn’t so _pathetically misguided_.”

Zachariah twisted, hard, and Castiel screamed. His wing was on fire. Zachariah had broken the bones in at least three places.

Vision swimming with pain, Castiel swung his blade up, and Zachariah was forced to release him in order to avoid the blow.

Panting, Castiel backed away, his blade held out defensively.

His vessel was bleeding heavily from the wounds Zachariah had inflicted, a sign that Castiel’s grace was far too damaged to heal it. With every second, Castiel felt more drained, the cuts in his grace far more dangerous than any physical wound. He could barely hold his blade up properly; his arm was shaking so badly.

Sam and Dean weren’t doing much better. The other angels had them surrounded, cornered against a badly burned wall that was all that remained of the back of the Roadhouse. Their faces were drawn with pain and exhaustion. Dean’s jaw was set in that way that Castiel knew meant he was terrified, but was doing his very best to be brave.

Zachariah was smiling, his eyes filled with the gleam of victory. “You can’t win, Castiel. Just admit it.”

He was right. There was no way for Castiel to win. And there was no way to escape either. The sigils prevented him from taking flight…

… But the sigils only worked on _angels_.

In that moment, Castiel knew what he had to do.

“Sam!” he yelled, “Catch!”

The small bronze carving spun through the air, glinting.

Sam looked up, startled, but he managed to catch the amulet in time with reflexes that were well honed by years of hunting.

“Keep him safe,” Castiel said, and he saw realization dawn on Sam’s face, followed by disbelieving horror.

In that split second as Castiel raised his arm to channel his grace, weakness made him turn his gaze to look one last time at Dean.

The look on Dean’s face was awful to behold.

His eyes were filled with incredible sorrow, glistening with the beginning of tears. The naked agony in them was nearly unbearable, and for a small, infinitesimal sliver of a moment, Castiel felt himself wavering. He could never stand the sight of Dean in pain.

Castiel loved Dean with every fiber of his being. He wanted so badly to stay with Dean. To be happy with Dean, to live the life he had imagined for them in the sunlight of that golden Thursday afternoon. But it was that very same love that made Castiel’s choice for him. He knew, in the depth of his heart, that only one of them would be making it out of here today. And when it came down to it, if Castiel had to choose… if he really had to choose… he would always choose Dean.

After all, Castiel had made a promise, both to himself and to Dean. He would protect Dean from Heaven. From Raphael and all the angels who wished to use him.

Or he would die trying.

Trembling with the effort, Castiel reached out to the ragged, ravaged thing that was his grace, marshalling what little of it was left. Zachariah’s attacks had done their damage; Castiel barely had any strength left in him. But he had to do this. For Dean.

As he reached out, Castiel thought of Dean’s smile. Of snowball fights and starlight. The frightening feeling of knowing and being known, falling and flying all at once. The way Dean had asked permission before leaning in to kiss him, so tender and gentle and slow, as if he wanted to treasure every single moment of it.

And like it was a shining beacon in the darkness, Castiel’s mind was inevitably drawn to that moment when he first truly understood just how much he loved Dean. When it came down to it, everything led back to that moment. Everything would always come back to that single, earth-shattering moment of realization. The pure, undeniable truth of it.

_I love him._

Power surged in him and Castiel _pushed_ —

The Winchesters disappeared in a brilliant flare of light. Castiel collapsed to the ground, spent, as darkness began to flood his vision. His grace fluttered weakly in his chest, a candle flame that had flared ever so brilliantly for one precious, incredible miracle of a second, and which was now guttering out.

A small, weak smile ghosted over Castiel’s lips, sad and bittersweet.

It was over for him now. But that was okay.

Dean was safe.

The last thing Castiel saw was Zachariah’s face, looming above him, features twisted in terrible rage. His mouth was open in a vicious snarl, and his lips were moving as though he was saying something. Castiel only caught his name and a few words, coming as if from a great distance away, “—you— _suffer_ for this—” before the darkness closed in.

And then Castiel knew no more.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

When Castiel awoke, it was to incredible pain.

Every part of him _hurt_ , from his borrowed human flesh to the tattered remnants of his grace.

“Castiel,” someone said.

Castiel raised his head weakly to look at the speaker.

It was Raphael.

He was in a vessel, a dark-skinned young man clad in a business suit. It seemed that they were still on Earth.

The blank, featureless white walls of the room that he was being held in gave Castiel no clue as to his location, and with Castiel’s grace in the state that it was, he had no way of finding out. There was no one else in the room but for Castiel and Raphael, though it was large enough that it could easily have contained at least twenty other angels.

Raphael stared down at Castiel, cold and pitiless. His expression was blank but for the slight twist of disdain on his lips.

Castiel tried to move his body, but he found that he couldn’t. Tight bands of metal were clamped around his wrists and ankles, etched with Enochian sigils for binding, weakness, and pain. The biggest band of metal was around his chest, the sigils there the strongest. On instinct, Castiel surged upwards, trying to escape his vessel. He slammed into a wall, molten agony ripping through him, leaving him dazed and panting.

“It is pointless for you to try that, Castiel,” said Raphael, “You are bound to that vessel. You will not be leaving this place.”

Castiel could not repress the shudder that overtook him as Raphael walked closer, eyes hard and cold. “Not unless you tell us where you’ve sent Dean Winchester.”

So this was why Castiel had been kept alive. He had fully expected to be dead by now.

But well… this was good news. It meant that Raphael and the other angels had not been able to locate Dean yet. It meant that Dean was safe. That was all that mattered.

Castiel kept silent. No matter what happened, he would never give Raphael an answer.

“Tell me where Dean Winchester is. Do so and I will show you mercy, grant you a quick death despite all your transgressions.”

Castiel still did not speak. He just kept staring at Raphael, mouth set in a thin line of resolute defiance, letting his silence speak for him.

Fury built in Raphael’s eyes with every second that Castiel did not answer.

“So this is how you want to play it? Very well.”

Raphael walked over to something by the side of Castiel’s chair, drawing Castiel’s gaze to it— a trolley that was filled with sharp, glinting metal instruments. The sight sent an irrepressible shudder through Castiel, and against his will, his wings trembled.

“I had hoped to do this without any undue… ugliness, but you leave me no choice. Perhaps in your time amongst the humans, you have forgotten how skilled Heaven’s agents can be at extracting necessary information.”

Raphael smiled, and it was as sharp and cold as the knife he picked up, slowly and lightly tracing one finger over the edge of the blade.

“I suppose I shall have to personally remind you…”

 

\---

 

Castiel lay back against the hard metal of the chair that he had been bound to, too weak to do anything but pant, gasping for breath, his head bowed.

“You have fallen in every way imaginable, Castiel,” Raphael said. It sounded like his voice was coming from a great distance away, growing clearer and clearer as Castiel began to emerge from the haze of pain. “You betrayed Heaven, killed your brothers and sisters, and all for one human.”

He scoffed in disgust. “Dean Winchester isn’t even _real_. He’s just the… _thing_ that Michael’s temporarily been reduced to—a degraded, inferior copy of what he once was. And yet you would give everything up for him? I’m disappointed in you, Castiel. Truly I am.”

Castiel did not reply. The harsh pants of his breath were loud in his ears.

“Tell me where you sent Dean Winchester and this will all stop.”

Castiel shook his head, though it felt like even that weak movement would be the end of him.

“Do you understand how pointless it is for you to resist? We will find Dean Winchester sooner or later, regardless of whether you capitulate or not. It is simply a matter of time. You can make this easier on yourself and tell us where he is now. I will grant you a quick, clean death for sparing me the inconvenience of tracking him down myself.”

Castiel finally lifted his head to look Raphael in the eye. He licked his lips. His voice came out quiet but resolute.

“As Dean would say…” Castiel allowed a small smile to slip onto his lips. “‘ _Shove it where the sun don’t shine, you son of a bitch_ ’.”

Raphael slammed a hand onto Castiel’s chest, and it felt like his very essence was being ripped apart. Like he was being destroyed slowly, pulled apart atom by atom.

Castiel bit his lips until they bled, trying to keep silent. He would not give Raphael the satisfaction of seeing him break. But eventually the pain became too much and his harsh pants dissolved into whimpers and finally- when he just couldn’t bear it anymore- screams.

It felt like an eternity before Raphael finally stopped. Castiel’s throat was raw from screaming. But it had probably only been a couple of minutes at most. Time had blurred for Castiel, the pain taking over his entire world. He had no idea if hours had passed since the moment he had sent the Winchesters away… or days.

As he always did at the end of every torture session, Raphael smiled at Castiel, cold and emotionless, and waved his hand. All of Castiel’s wounds disappeared—only for Raphael to start again.

As Raphael tortured him, Castiel thought about Dean, his green eyes and freckled cheeks, his brilliant smile… the way he looked at Castiel as though Castiel was all he could ever want in this world…

It did nothing for the pain, which was as terrible and overwhelming as ever, but what it did was give Castiel the strength not to say yes, to resist the temptation that rose in him more often than he wanted to admit.

As the molten pain coursed through him, Castiel held onto it—the thought that Dean wouldn’t want him to give in, he would want Castiel to stay strong, no matter how much—how much Castiel wanted to give in… how much…oh, but the pain was just so great…

_Castiel, hey, hey, hey- stay with me. It’s gonna be alright—it’s all going to be alright—_

Jimmy’s mental voice was hoarse with pain as well.

Castiel had tried to shield Jimmy from the worst of the agony, but his grace was so weak and the barriers between them had begun to slip during Raphael’s torture, Castiel’s ability to keep them up failing as the pain increased.

Some of the agony must have leaked through to Jimmy—and Castiel felt desperately sorry that Jimmy should have to suffer with him as well. If only he wasn’t so damnably weak…

He could feel Jimmy’s concern. Jimmy’s soul pressed against Castiel soothingly, as if he was trying to comfort Castiel from the pain.

_Don’t give up, Cas. You can do this…_

Jimmy was right. Castiel couldn’t give up. Dean was counting on him. Castiel had to stay strong, keep Dean safe. It was the only thing that mattered.

“You’ve stopped screaming. Still resisting, are you?” Raphael’s voice was pleasant. “Let’s see if I can’t up my game a little.”

He touched a single finger to the center of Castiel’s forehead, obscenely gentle. Slowly, deliberately, the archangel _smiled_.

Castiel’s world dissolved into overwhelming pain, the screams tearing themselves from his throat.

Dimly, he heard Jimmy screaming along with him as well…

 

\---

 

Eventually Raphael stopped.

He sounded almost reluctantly impressed as he said, “I’m surprised, Castiel. You’ve held out for much longer than I expected. Angels far stronger than you have broken after enduring far less. And yet you still resist. Are you truly that devoted to Dean Winchester?”

Castiel hung limply against his restraints, trembling. He did not answer.

Raphael sighed. “It’s a pity that he doesn’t return the sentiment.” Frowning, he looked around. “I had expected Dean Winchester to come for you by now. And yet… there is no sign of him. Perhaps Michael’s human self doesn’t care as much about you as you thought he did. It appears that we have both been mistaken about the depth of his affection for you.”

Castiel tried to push down the bitter disappointment that rose in him at Raphael’s words. He knew that Raphael was just baiting him. He should be glad that Dean was doing the logical thing and staying safe—yet, some small selfish part of him still wished that Dean would come and rescue him from Raphael.

It went against everything he had done, the sacrifice that he had willingly chosen to make… but the awful feeling of longing in his chest didn’t quite go away.

Why did Castiel torture himself like this, hoping for something that he could never have?

This wasn’t one of the humans’ fairytales. There would be no happy ending for him. No last minute miracles. Castiel was an angel, and he knew that the only miracles that happened were of his brethren and their Father’s making. But God was gone and Castiel could not expect any mercy from his fellow angels.

There would be no miracles today. Not for him, at least. The very best Castiel could hope for was a quick, painless death.

“You know, he always did have some strange attachment to you,” Raphael said, almost musingly.

Weakly, Castiel raised his head to look up at Raphael.

“Did you ever wonder why I sent you- specifically you- to find Michael and gain his trust to retrieve his grace?”

Castiel had wondered about Raphael’s strange insistence, but he had never really thought too deeply about it.

“I saw it… the way he stared at you. When he thought we weren’t watching. It was unbecoming.” Raphael’s lips curled in disdain.

“I always wondered why Michael was so fascinated with you. You were not powerful. You had no particular talents to speak of. You were nothing more than just another mindless, obedient drone, the same as all the rest of the lower-ranked angels. And yet he watched you, when he thought nobody was looking, as though you were something _special_.”

This was a revelation to Castiel. If Michael had ever paid any particular attention to him, Castiel had certainly never noticed it.

“But then again,” Raphael said, after a period of contemplative silence, “I suppose you do have an unusual tenacity for someone so pitifully powerless. Your devotion is admittedly impressive.”

He stared at Castiel, long and hard, and something softened in his expression. “You may have turned against Heaven, but I suppose you cannot be wholly blamed for being corrupted by Michael’s tainted human self. Your loyalty, despite how misguided it is, is admirable.

“If you ask me for it, I will grant you mercy. You are, after all, still my brother. I will turn you over to Naomi for reprogramming. She will make you…right again. Restore you to the way you were before you ever met Dean Winchester. A good, loyal soldier of Heaven. You won’t ever have to feel the terrible coldness of doubt, or the pain of being estranged from your true family. You won’t have to suffer anymore. You’ll be happy to help us find Dean Winchester then. Imagine it. You could be happy again, Castiel.”

Castiel looked up at Raphael’s face. There was a smile on the archangel’s lips that could almost be described as benevolent, if not for the complete lack of genuine emotion behind it.

There was a time when what Raphael offered would have been appealing. There was a time when Castiel would have accepted his offer without a second thought. But Castiel knew now that whatever happiness Raphael was offering, it was not true happiness. Not without Dean.

To be returned to what he once was- as unquestioning and unfeeling as an automaton- to forget his love for Dean- that was far worse than any torture Raphael could ever inflict.

Castiel wet his lips and swallowed before speaking in a voice that was hoarse from screaming, “So you would grant me a boon in honor of our brotherhood?”

“Yes,” said Raphael.

“Then end this now,” Castiel said. “Kill me.”

Raphael’s brows furrowed into a frown. He said, tone sharp, “You know that I won’t do that. Not unless you tell me where Dean Winchester is. So why do you still ask?”

Castiel had known that, but still… it had been worth a try. There was something else though, something else he could ask for.

“If you will not kill me, then let Jimmy go,” Castiel said. “He doesn’t deserve to suffer any longer. He is innocent in all of this.”

“Jimmy?” It was clear from Raphael’s tone that he neither knew nor particularly cared about whomever it was that Castiel was talking about.

“James Novak,” said Castiel. “My vessel.”

Raphael’s lips curled into a sneer. “You would plead for a _human’s_ happiness over your own?”

Castiel took a deep breath. He ignored all of Jimmy’s furious protests even as the human screamed at him, telling Castiel not to be stupid, to stop antagonizing Raphael. “Jimmy has served our cause faithfully. He has had no part in any of my transgressions. He doesn’t deserve to be punished for my sins.”

There was a scowl on Raphael’s face. “You are trying my generosity, Castiel. You know full well that I cannot afford to release you from your vessel. Cease asking for things that you know I cannot give.”

Castiel did not back down even in the face of Raphael’s wrath. “That’s not what I’m asking for. With Jimmy’s consent, you can cut his soul free from this body, send him on to Heaven. I know that it is within your power to do this, brother. Torture me if you will, but let Jimmy go on to his final rest. He deserves his freedom. Please, Raphael. You know this is the right thing to do.”

Castiel looked at Raphael, earnest and pleading. “This is all I’m asking for. Just this one thing. Please.”

Perhaps it was foolish of him to appeal to Raphael’s better nature. Like Michael, Raphael had always been cold and unyielding. He may not have hated the humans to the extent of Lucifer, but he had never liked them either.

Castiel waited for Raphael to snarl in rage, to start torturing him again. He waited for the first bite of pain.

However, Raphael just stared at Castiel for a long while, expression inscrutable.

Then he raised a hand and Castiel felt the touch of Raphael’s grace. Instinctively, Castiel flinched, but Raphael was only removing Jimmy’s soul from their shared body.

Castiel felt Jimmy’s fear and worry; he was reluctant to leave Castiel to suffer Raphael’s torture alone. It warmed Castiel, knowing that Jimmy was so concerned about him. Regret filled him at the thought of the promise he had made to Jimmy to let him go back to his family—a promise that now could never be fulfilled.

_I’m sorry, Jimmy_ , he said, _I know that this isn’t the ending either you or I would have wanted._

_No, Cas, it isn’t,_ Jimmy admitted. However, the swell of regret that came across their bond was tempered by gratitude. _But you did everything you could… and you didn’t have to ask Raphael to set me free… but you did it anyway._

Jimmy’s mental presence grew fainter and fainter as Castiel felt his soul leaving the body.

_That was the kindest… noblest thing anyone’s ever done for me…. Thank you…_

Jimmy’s gratitude surged across their bond in one last burst of intense feeling.

Then he was gone, leaving Castiel the sole occupant of their once shared body. Trapped in this battered flesh, in a cold, sterile room with Raphael. All alone.

Raphael looked down at Castiel, and the softness in his expression slowly seeped away, replaced by grim resolve. His gaze turned hard and dispassionate once more.

“I have done as you asked, Castiel. And now we must return to business,” he said, and perhaps there was even a trace of regret in his voice, but that was cold comfort when the pain began anew.

 

\---

 

“Sam!” Dean screamed, “Let me out of here!”

He pounded on the heavy iron door of the panic room once more, making the metal clang loudly. Each blow hurt like a bitch but he didn’t care. Desperation surged in his chest.

Cas needed him.

“Sam!” Dean yelled again. “Let me out, damn it!”

Cas had sent them away, the stupid suicidal brave idiot. He had sent them away even though he knew what it would mean for him.

“SAM!”

He knew that Sam must be somewhere nearby. He wouldn’t dare to leave Dean alone. Sam of all people knew exactly how slippery Dean could be when he wanted to escape. At least he hadn’t cuffed Dean to the bed. But then again, there was nothing much Dean could do against three inches of reinforced iron. All his banging and pounding and kicking hadn’t even put a dent in the damn door.

His fists still against the door, Dean slowly slid down to his knees, feeling despair overtake him. His vision was blurring. Dimly, he noted that the skin of his knuckles were bloodied and torn, but the sting was nothing compared to the hooks that tore at Dean’s heart at the thought of Cas—the resigned, rueful smile on his face as he had raised his hand and sent them back to Bobby’s house in a brilliant flash of white light. Leaving Cas alone and defenseless, at the mercy of the other angels.

Dean felt like he could die from the pain that gripped him.

“Sam, it’s _Cas_ …” he said, voice breaking on the last word. “Cas needs us.”

Desperation filled the words that came tumbling out of him, “The angels have him. Who knows what they’re doing to him… they’re probably torturing our location out of him right now…” Dean had to stop, his breath hitching dangerously, his vision swimming with tears.

Dean heard Sam’s heavy breathing outside. He must be standing right beside the door. There was sorrow in his voice as he said, “I know, Dean. But I can’t let you do this.”

“Fuck you, Sam,” Dean said, anger surging in him even as tears rolled unstoppably down his cheeks. “Cas gave everything for us. And I’m supposed to just sit tight here and twiddle my thumbs while he dies for my stupidity? Let me out now!”

Sam sighed heavily. “Dean…” He paused. “I know how much you love Cas…” It hurt, like a red-hot railroad spike being stabbed through his heart, to hear Sam state it so plainly and matter-of-factly.

Sam’s voice was pained as he said, “And Cas is my friend too. But he gave his life to save you, and I’m not going to let you throw away his sacrifice.”

Dean dashed a hand against his face angrily, swiping away the tears.

“Fuck you,” he spat, “You’re one heartless bastard. Would you do this if it was Jess we had left back there? Would you just say, ‘fuck it,’ and leave her behind?”

But even as Dean railed at him, Sam didn’t say a word. Dean knew he was being unfair and cruel, that Sam was keeping silent and letting Dean take his anger out on him when he could have spoken up in his own defense.

Dean closed his eyes, feeling the slide of tears down his cheeks.

“It’s Cas, Sam. _Cas_ ,” he repeated brokenly. He could not contain the sob that escaped him.

“I know…” Sam said softly.

“Please…” Dean begged, “Please let me save him. At least let me try. How would you… how would you feel… if you’d had the chance to save Jess… and you didn’t take it? How would you go on living with yourself?”

“Dean…”

Dean heard the hitch in Sam’s breath.

“Tell me. How am I supposed to go on after this? Without Cas? Even if I survive everything, what kind— what kind of life is it gonna be?”

“Dean, no…” Dean could hear the pain in Sam’s voice. “You can’t- you can’t talk like that.”

“Sam, it’s _Cas_. He saved your life, he saved _our_ lives so many times—we owe him this much at least. Maybe it’s suicide… but at least we’d die knowing we tried.”

Dean wished the door were open so that he could look Sam in the eye, but he could only hope that his words would be enough. He tried to inject all the emotion he could into his tone as he said, pleading, “Cas is family, Sam. And we don’t give up on family. Do we?”

Sam stayed silent for a long while. Then Dean heard metal creaking as Sam turned the wheel to unlock the door.

When Dean met Sam’s eyes, he saw tears glinting in them. “You’re right, Dean,” Sam said, smiling sadly. “We don’t give up on family… We’ll save Cas together.”

His eyes widened for a split second before Dean’s fist met his face and he dropped like a stone.

“Sorry, Sammy,” Dean said as he knelt down next to Sam’s crumpled form. “This is something I gotta do alone.”

After a while of pawing through Sam’s clothing, Dean’s fingers finally closed around the familiar shape of his amulet.

Dean allowed himself one last look at Sam, regret surging in him. Then he made his way to the secret exit he had found as a child at the back of Bobby’s basement. He pried open the loose boards in the wall, and the sunlight flooded in, a tiny window of light in the darkness of the basement.

He was intensely aware of the amulet clutched in his hand, burning with a power that was eerily familiar, that called to some deep part of him.

Dean’s fingers tightened around the amulet, and he took a deep breath as he stepped out into the sunlight.

The metal of the amulet was warm against his skin.

 

\---

 

The pain seemed as though it had been going on for an eternity. It was so great that Castiel barely even noticed when it stopped, too lost in the molten fire coursing through him, burning away his very sense of self. When he finally came back to reality, Castiel realized with some surprise that Raphael had walked over to the exit of the room, where he was talking to someone.

Squinting through eyes that were still blurry with pain, Castiel saw that the other angel was Zachariah. There was a wide, pleased smile on his face; he was practically overflowing with barely suppressed glee.

“We have Dean Winchester,” Zachariah said, and Castiel’s heart fell.

It felt like he had been plunged into the deepest depths of the ocean, a shocking, numbing chill spreading throughout his entire body.

“He just showed up at our doorstep.” Zachariah shook his head, chuckling. “And would you believe it? The lovesick fool actually tried to _bargain_ with me— he said he would give us Michael’s grace if we left the traitor alone.”

Zachariah laughed contemptuously. “I told him: why should I bargain with you when I can just take what I want? Oh, you should have seen the look on his face.”

_No…. Dean…_

Raphael’s face was as blank as ever, unreadable. “Where is Dean Winchester now?”

Zachariah smiled. He snapped his fingers and a group of angels appeared. One of them was holding Dean down. Inias, an angel from Castiel’s garrison.

He was gripping Dean tightly, keeping him still by twisting his arms behind his back. Dean’s face was bloodied, twisted in pain. He looked as though he had put up a fight before the angels had managed to bring him down.

Inias released Dean roughly, sending him sprawling. Dean fell to the ground at Raphael’s feet, and he stayed there on his hands and knees, head bowed and panting harshly, before slowly raising his head to glare at the gathered angels.

As his gaze fell upon Castiel, his expression softened and a small smile ghosted over his lips, soft and bittersweet. It was sad and resigned, but filled with incredible tenderness.

Castiel’s heart ached at the sight. Dean had come for him, just like Castiel had so desperately wished he would. But in doing so, he had doomed them both.

Smirking, Zachariah handed Raphael something that Castiel belatedly realized was Dean’s amulet.

Castiel looked between the amulet and Dean, cold dread filling him.

Raphael held the amulet between his thumb and forefinger, bringing it to eye level. He looked at it critically for a long time.

“So this cheap trinket is what we’ve spent so much effort looking for? Strange to think that such a tiny object could hold so much power. The power of the first archangel, Commander of the Heavenly Host. The power to defeat the Devil. It seems so very ordinary.”

All the angels were watching Raphael and Dean. An expectant hush had fallen. Zachariah was smiling in gleeful anticipation. Undoubtedly he was already thinking of his upcoming promotion. Castiel hated his stupid, self-satisfied grin; he wanted nothing more than to wipe the smug look off Zachariah’s face.

Raphael remained silent, looking between the amulet and Dean. Everyone was watching him, but he did not make a move.

Finally, Zachariah spoke up. Perhaps his success had made him bold. “Brother,” he said, “are you not going to restore Michael?”

Raphael’s face was like stone. He gave no indication of having heard Zachariah’s words.

Instead he stared at Dean, eyes hard. “Look at you, Michael. The very _touch_ of you corrupts. You are a pitiful thing. Tainted. Riddled with sin.” His lips curled into a disdainful sneer. “Fallen from grace.”

Walking forward slowly, Raphael came to a stop right in front of the still-kneeling Dean. There was something strange and unsettling about the way he was gazing at Dean.

“For a very long time, I thought that our Father’s plan was the only true way. That deviation from it could only invite disaster…. But I see now that I was mistaken. I see now the path that I must take. I see now that our Father has chosen wrongly. Out of His favored few, _I_ am the only one who has had the strength to stay true.” Raphael’s eyes burned with unnerving conviction as he declared, “It is _my_ duty to start the Apocalypse and finish it— _not you_.”

Castiel’s eyes widened in shock, his expression echoed by all of his fellow angels as the true extent of Raphael’s words dawned on them.

“You are weak, Michael. Unfit to lead Heaven. For the good of us all, I am relieving you of your duty.”

Raphael’s blade slipped into his hand, and in one swift motion, he yanked Dean up by his collar. Dean tried to scramble away, but Raphael’s grip was unforgiving.

“You’re making a big mistake, pal.” Dean’s eyes were wide with frantic fear. “Listen to me, you don’t wanna do this. You still need me-”

Raphael ignored him. Smiling thinly, he raised his blade. Cold triumph gleamed in his eyes.

“You want to be a human so much, Michael? Then die like one.”

Desperate fear filled Castiel. He opened his mouth to scream at Raphael to stop, but before he could utter a word, Raphael’s blade flashed down.

Castiel watched in horror as it descended, aimed straight for Dean’s heart.

However, in the split second before Raphael’s blade could strike home, something in Dean’s expression changed. The fear vanished from his eyes. A small, chilling smile slipped onto his lips.

Dean’s hand flashed out. He caught Raphael’s arm effortlessly, and the blade came to a standstill, the sharp point of it just barely touching his chest.

Still smiling that chilling smile, Dean said, “Didn’t I tell you, Raphael? This is a big mistake. In fact… let us call it your _last_ mistake.”

Another blade, almost identical to Raphael’s but for the sheer power emanating from it, slipped into Dean’s hand, and in one smooth motion, he stabbed Raphael through the neck with it, twisting the blade in viciously.

Raphael burnt out in a brilliant flare of white light, mouth wide open in a silent scream. The ashes of his wings, all three pairs of them, were seared across the ground. Castiel watched, mind numb with shock, as Raphael’s vessel collapsed.

Dean’s amulet tumbled to the ground, where it lay, glinting bright bronze amidst the dark ashes.

Dean turned to Zachariah.

The seraph’s pleased expression was completely gone. Instead a hunted look was growing on his face.

“Please,” he said, “I didn’t know… I’m sorry… I had no idea…”

He gulped at the stony expression on Dean’s face.

“I was only doing what Raphael told me to. I was following orders.” He smiled, obsequious and wheedling. “You know how it is.”

Dean simply stared back at him, eyes hard.

Fear began to creep into Zachariah’s expression as he realized that none of his words were having any effect.

“Please,” he said, backing away from Dean, “I didn’t want to do it… I had no idea what Raphael had planned… It wasn’t my fault… Please don’t kill me— Mercy, Michael!” Zachariah was frantic, his eyes wild with panic, “ _Please show mercy_ —”

Smiling coldly, Dean snapped his fingers. Zachariah exploded, showering the angels around him in blood and tiny pieces of his vessel.

Castiel felt sick. He had hated Zachariah with every fiber of his being, but this…

All the other angels had flinched away from that gruesome display. Dean’s gaze swept onto them, and as one, they sank to their knees, bowing deeply in fearful deference.

“Michael,” came the susurration of awed whispers. “Michael. It’s Michael. Michael’s back. Michael.”

Dean- no, _Michael_ , and how it burned Castiel to think of him as Michael- turned around.

Michael’s gaze fell upon Castiel where he lay, bound to the cold metal chair that Raphael had been torturing him on.

The archangel walked forward slowly, one hand reaching out towards the metal bands that bound Castiel to the chair. At his touch, they sprang open.

Castiel shuddered at Michael’s presence, trying to flinch away from him, but Michael reached out and touched his arm before Castiel could jerk away.

Michael’s grace wound through him, a powerful, soothing warmth, healing the tears in his grace that Raphael and Zachariah had inflicted, making Castiel whole.

“Castiel,” Michael said quietly. He looked so much like Dean. His green eyes, the familiar freckles on his cheeks. Even his touch felt the same, gentle and warm.

But he wasn’t Dean. Not anymore.

Looking at Dean’s face and seeing Michael stare back- and it was undeniable that it was Michael; now that Michael had stopped pretending to be human, Castiel could see his true face and the three pairs of great golden wings that stretched out from behind his shoulders- Castiel felt savage agony rip through him, the pain unparalleled by even the worst of Raphael’s torture.

Dean was gone.

Castiel had failed, and there was nothing he could do to bring Dean back.

He thought of the future that lay before him—of being forced to kneel to Michael, to follow his orders, as if Dean Winchester had never even existed. He thought about how he would have to look upon Michael’s face, the features so devastatingly familiar, watch as Michael brought about the Apocalypse and slayed the Devil, while being reminded every single second, that the man he loved was gone forever.

A deep wave of despair overcame Castiel. He had failed. He had given _everything_ he could give, been through so much pain and suffering, and it still hadn’t been enough. He had still failed Dean. He had _let Dean down_.

At that moment, Castiel had never wished more that Zachariah or Raphael had just killed him.

“My name is _Cas_ ,” Castiel whispered, weak and broken.

Before the archangel could react, he lunged past Michael, snatching Dean’s amulet off the floor. The last thing he saw was Michael’s shocked face- then Castiel was gone in one desperate flap of his wings.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

Sam set the piece of chalk down. Dusting off his hands, he surveyed his work.

A golden chalice sat on the ground in front of him, filled with myrrh, frankincense, and holy oil. He had drawn Enochian sigils around it in a perfect circle. Referring to the diagram in his book, Sam nodded, satisfied. Everything seemed to be in order.

Reading off from the book, Sam began chanting. At the end of the chant, he drew a single match out from his matchbox, lighting it easily. He was about to toss it into the chalice when there was a sudden gust of wind that blew out the lit match, accompanied by a faint flutter of wings.

“Hey Sam,” Dean said. “You could have just called, you know.”

Dean was leaning casually against a nearby wall, languid and loose-limbed. There was a crooked grin playing on his lips.

It was still strange to look at Dean and know that he was looking at Michael the archangel.

He didn’t look that different. Dad’s old leather jacket still hung off his shoulders and he was wearing his usual plaid and denim combo, complete with his favorite brown boots, worn and dirty, the laces a little frayed.

He still looked like Sam’s big brother… yet there was something almost imperceptibly different about him. Something about the way he held himself. The straightness of his shoulders, the way his gaze held a hint of that uncanny intensity that Sam was more used to seeing on Cas. When he blinked, it was almost as if he had to remind himself to do so. Sam had to admit—the effect was vaguely unsettling.

“Called?” said Sam, raising an eyebrow at Dean. “I wasn’t sure if you got cell reception in Heaven. Or if a phone was even still good enough for one of God’s messengers. Do archangels usually carry cellphones?”

“Or you could have prayed,” Dean said, ignoring Sam’s jibe, “I would have come. You don’t need to _summon me_ , like I’m some kind of crossroads demon.” He wrinkled his nose in disgust, before his expression softened and he smiled at Sam. “You know I’ll always come to you if you need me.”

“Will you?” Sam said, looking Dean dead in the eye. “’Cause the first news I get that you’re still alive after you knocked me out to go on your crazy solo rescue mission is when Jo and Ellen arrived at Bobby’s door, half out of their minds with panic, going on about how you brought everyone back from the dead and then promptly vanished into thin air.”

Sam threw Dean an annoyed look as he added, tone dry, “Yeah. Thanks for the update, Dean. It’d have been nice to hear from you or Cas about what happened, but I guess that wasn’t a priority compared to all your important angel business. I mean, you guys only left me wondering if the two of you were _dead_ or being _tortured_ and all.”

Dean scratched the back of his neck, looking more like a kid that got caught with his fingers in the cookie jar than the fearsome archangel he was supposed to be. Okay, so maybe Sam was still pretty damn miffed about being left out of the loop, but seeing Dean’s awkward display of contrition did go some way towards soothing his anger.

“Sorry, Sam,” Dean said, a tad sheepishly, “I’ve been busy.”

“With what?” Sam said, curiosity taking precedence despite his still lingering urge to bitch Dean out for disappearing on him without even a word.

“A little this and that,” Dean said. He grinned. “Found and ganked the yellow-eyed demon, for one. His name was Azazel, by the way. He had a plan to set the Devil free from his cage- and maybe he’d even have succeeded in the end. But I’ve taken care of things. Lucifer won’t ever get out. The Apocalypse isn’t gonna happen. You’re safe now, Sammy.”

Dean smiled at Sam, earnest and warm. He looked like a puppy seeking approval. If he had a tail, it would probably have been wagging hopefully.

If Sam hadn’t already been convinced that Dean was still himself, this would have been all the confirmation he needed.

“Thanks, Dean,” Sam said, the last of his anger vanishing. He pulled Dean into a hug. Happiness rose in him at the feeling of Dean, safe and warm and familiar, in his arms.

“You’re welcome, bitch,” said Dean. He gave Sam’s hair a playful ruffle before releasing Sam from his arms, because he was apparently just as much of an immature jerk as he had always been, even as a millennia-old celestial being who was supposed to be the supreme commander of the Heavenly Host.

“What’s it like being an angel?” Sam asked curiously as he ran fingers through his hair to comb it back into place. Something occurred to him, and Sam perked up in excitement. “You have wings now, don’t you? Can I see them?”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Trust you to geek out over this, Sammy.”

He huffed in laughter at Sam’s exasperated look before saying, “Yes, I do have wings. Three pairs of them, in fact. And no, you can’t see them. Not really. At most you’ll be able to see just their shadows, if I do that trick that Cas did for us before. The thing is- humans aren’t really equipped with the senses to perceive our true forms—”

Dean paused, his gaze turning speculative as he eyed Sam, some of the sharp, alien intensity returning to his stare. “Although, as an archangel’s true vessel, it might be different for you…”

A chill passed through Sam at the reminder that he was supposed to be the vessel for the freaking _Devil—_ but then suddenly, brilliant golden light burst out from behind Dean’s shoulders, and Sam realized that _holy shit, those were actual wings_.

Giant glowing golden wings.

They framed Dean like some sort of majestically glowing cloak of golden light. Fully extended, Dean’s wingspan would probably be at least thirty feet. Each of his feathers shone with an ethereally beautiful light. They were just slightly on the side of translucent, as if they were partially out of phase with this reality.

It was absolutely _amazing_.

“Woah,” Sam breathed. He began to reach out towards the glowing feathers, an almost subconscious gesture. “Hey, can I—”

“NO!!!” Dean yelled, extremely loudly. He jerked back as if scalded, snapping his wings back out of sight, even though Sam’s fingers were nowhere even _remotely_ close to his feathers.

Sam raised an eyebrow at him.

There was more color on Dean’s cheeks than there should have been. Dean was—Dean was _blushing_.

“Okaaay,” said Sam, “No touching. I get it.”

He was pretty sure that he knew now what Dean and Cas had been getting up to during those few weeks they spent at Bobby’s. They said that knowledge was power, but this was a particular kind of power that Sam would really rather not have.

He decided to continue with a safer topic.

“Anyway… so if this-” Sam waved his hand at Dean’s body “-isn’t your, uh, ‘true form’, does this mean you have, like, five heads now or something? Does your true form even exist on this plane?” A thought struck Sam. “And is your body a vessel now? I’m assuming that the normal rules about requiring consent for possession of a vessel don’t apply in your case—”

Dean groaned, rolling his eyes. “Did you summon me just to interrogate me on angelic anatomy? _Jesus Christ_. I’m not your fifth grade science experiment, Sam. Quit poking at me to try and figure out how I work.”

That was so typically Dean that Sam was unable to stop the grin that slipped onto his lips. “I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to be taking the Lord’s name in vain now that you’re an archangel,” he pointed out.

“Screw you, bitch,” was Dean’s spirited attempt at a comeback, as witty and original as always.

“Y’know, I expected you to be a lot more different,” Sam said. “What with becoming an angel and all. I mean, you’ve got this whole other set of memories now. Centuries and centuries of them—”

Sam trailed off, looking at Dean warily before finally saying, “To be honest, I wasn’t all that sure you wouldn’t turn right back into the cold, unfeeling smite machine that everyone said Michael was, but… you’re still the same brother that I’ve always known. Michael wouldn’t have brought Ellen or Jo back. Or any of those other people at the Roadhouse. He wouldn’t have come when I called. He wouldn’t have given a rat’s ass about my safety.”

He smiled warmly at Dean. “That’s all you, Dean.”

Dean chuckled, shrugging, and threw Sam a lopsided grin. “Guess I was just too stubborn to quit being me.” He actually puffed out his chest a little, the incorrigible showboat. “Yeah, I’m really just that awesome.”

He smirked at the exasperated look Sam gave him. However, after a moment, the levity faded from his eyes and his expression grew solemn.

“I’ll admit… it was difficult at first. You’re right. About the memories. When I took back my grace, it was pretty damn overwhelming. I was Dean Winchester for twenty-seven years, but Michael—Michael’s older than dirt. He’s been kicking around since the start of creation. What’s a couple of decades of being human in comparison with all those centuries? It’s barely even a _blink_ in Michael’s whole lifespan.”

Dean looked away, expression pensive and slightly sorrowful.

“All those memories of being an angel were rushing in, changing me. The human parts of me just… fading into the background. Becoming unimportant. Insignificant. I was forgetting things…” Dean paused, correcting himself, “No, that’s wrong. It was not so much forgetting… as ceasing to care.”

“I tried so hard to hold onto my memories. To all the things that made me Dean. But no matter what I did, no matter how hard I fought, it was all just slipping away from me. Our friends… Mom… Dad… Bobby…” Dean looked at Sam, smiling sadly. “Even you.”

A lump came into Sam’s throat. He was abruptly reminded of just how close he had come to losing Dean forever.

Dean’s expression was sad, his gaze clouded over in memory. A small, bittersweet smile came onto his lips.

“And I thought to myself… this is it. This is it for me. You can’t fight City Hall. It’s the end of the line. And for a moment, it was over for me. I was gone…” Dean trailed off, staying silent for a long while.

“But then… well… there was one last thing that I remembered.”

A small, fond smile ghosted over his lips.

“What was it?” Sam said, though he suspected he already knew the answer. It probably wore a trench coat and had a tendency to take things too literally.

Dean’s gaze refocused. The pensiveness disappeared from his expression and he flashed an incredibly obnoxious shit-eating grin at Sam. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

Sam glared at him, annoyed, but Dean continued on, “Anyway, it was kinda tough. Reconciling the two halves of me. I struggled at first. I may have been a little-” Dean hesitated, looking uncomfortable, “-harsh.”

“What did you do, Dean?” Sam said, suddenly worried. The way Dean had behaved towards Alicia Lawson back when Michael’s old personality had reasserted itself was still fresh in his memory. If that was any indication, Michael being ‘harsh’ was unlikely to end well for any of the other parties involved.

Dean raised an eyebrow at Sam, as if to say ‘ye of little faith’.

“Just gave Raphael and Zachariah what they had coming to them. Those sons of bitches deserved every single bit of it, after everything they did to our friends and Cas. But…” Dean looked a little regretful, “perhaps I could have gone about it in a better way. Been a bit less… brutal. Cas may have gotten the, uh, wrong impression…” Dean trailed off, his expression troubled.

“What do you mean?” Sam said. He was abruptly reminded of an important question he had been meaning to ask all along. “Where’s Cas anyway? I’d have thought that he’d be hanging around with you.”

“Uh…” said Dean, “Things with Cas are… kinda complicated.”

Sam gave Dean a scrutinizing look. Dean twitched, smiling a little too widely, and Sam recognized Dean’s furtive manner as the way he usually behaved when he was doing something incredibly stupid and he fully knew it… but was still doing it anyway.

“Dean…” Sam said, “ _Please_ tell me you’ve spoken to Cas about all of this. This whole turning into Michael again thing. You know how hung up he was about preventing you from becoming an angel. Hell, he was willing to give up his life to prevent it. I can’t imagine him being terribly pleased about this outcome.”

“I did try to talk to Cas!” Dean protested, a little too vehemently, “…Okay, so maybe I just said his name. But then he took off after that like he’d seen a ghost… So it ain’t really my fault.”

“What,” said Sam. It wasn’t even a question.

Dean looked down at his boots as if they had suddenly become absolutely fascinating.

“He ran off at the _sight_ of me, Sam. I wasn’t gonna give chase.” His lips were downturned in a sad, troubled frown. “I don’t know where he is, anyway. He’s been hiding himself from me.”

“Dean, let me get something straight. Have you been spending the past few days killing demons _or_ moping around sadly because Cas ran away from you?”

Dean was silent for a long while, scuffing his boots against the ground.

“A little bit of both,” he finally admitted, then after a beat, “Maybe more of the latter? Anyway, I wasn’t ‘moping around sadly’. I don’t… _mope._ Okay, yeah, I was kind of a little sad. Who wouldn’t be? But I wasn’t _moping_. I was just… thinking about the situation, y’know… how I ought to proceed… Stuff like that… Productive… non-mopey… stuff…”

Sam resisted the urge to smack his face into his palm.

“Dean, _seriously_?”

It seemed that Dean’s emotional constipation had carried over to his angelic self as well. Who would ever have thought there would be the day when Sam would be playing relationship counselor to _Michael the Archangel_? Even as an actual celestial entity, Dean apparently still had the emotional competency of a rock.

Then again, this was Dean ‘ _No Chick-Flick Moments_ ’ Winchester that Sam was talking about.

“What?” Dean grumbled. Sam gave him a _look_.

“Have you considered that Cas ran away from you because he thought you were Michael?” Sam paused. “I mean- you _are_ Michael, but well, not the old smitey Michael. You’re, uh—”

“Yeah, yeah, I know what you mean, Sammy,” Dean said. He pointed at himself. “I’m Nice Michael, not Dick Michael. Got it.”

“Well, Cas doesn’t seem to know that, from what you’ve told me,” Sam said, “So the way I see things—there’s a really simple solution to all of this.”

He gave Dean a firm look. “Speak to Cas, show him that you’re still you. And _ta-dah!_ Both of you can go back to being sickeningly in love. There we go, problem solved. Isn’t it _amazing_ how so many relationship problems can be resolved by just a little bit of proper communication?”

“You make it sound so easy,” Dean grumbled. “Try explaining that you’re still a good person to someone who looks at you like you’re the evil love child of Stalin and Darth Vader. Cas was like, two seconds away from bursting into tears at the very sight of me. I mean, he thinks that Michael’s basically angel Hitler. And guess who’s Michael now? Oh yeah. _Me_.”

Sam sighed. “Look, Dean… I know you’re afraid of rejection, but unless you speak to Cas, he isn’t ever gonna realize that you’re still the man he loves. And he does love you a lot, you know.”

Sam looked deep into Dean’s eyes.

“He gave up everything for you. Maybe you’re scared he won’t love you anymore now that you’ve become an angel, but that doesn’t matter. The least you could do is go talk to him. You owe him that much. Besides,” Sam shrugged, grinning, “if it’s any comfort to you to know, I’m fairly certain that Cas would still love you just as much even if you turned into a cockroach.”

Dean’s mouth twisted into a reluctantly amused smile. “Dude, that’s _gross_. Seriously. I’m gonna need steel wool to scrub _that_ mental image out of my brain.”

After a while, he added, “You can be scarily perceptive, you know.”

“Yeah, I know,” said Sam, “And I’ll kick your ass if you don’t man up and talk to Cas. So get going already.”

Dean raised an eyebrow at him. “You know I’m an archangel, right?”

“And you know I’m your little brother, right? I can always kick your ass.”

Dean grinned. “That’s right. You’re the best ass-kicker there is, Sammy. Thanks for the talk.”

He disappeared in a flutter of wings.

Smiling in fond exasperation, Sam shook his head and began wiping away the chalk marks from the floor.

 

\---

 

Castiel stared out into the sunset, Dean’s amulet clutched tightly in his fist.

The dying light of the setting sun bathed the rocks of the Grand Canyon a rich golden-red. It should have been beautiful, but Castiel felt nothing but a deep, aching sadness as he stared at the landscape. All he could think about was the offer he had made to Dean once in a dream.

“Maybe we could go together someday,” he had said. Dean had looked at him with so much happiness, as though Castiel making him that offer was a dream come true.

Dean would never get to see the Grand Canyon now.

Castiel’s fingers tightened around the amulet so much that the grooves of it were practically cutting into his skin.

The amulet was all that he had left of Dean. Once, Castiel had questioned why humans so often attached sentiment to inanimate objects. He had wondered at the illogicality of it. Now he knew entirely how possible it was to love someone so much, to ache for them so deeply that you reached out to whatever small, scant piece of them that remained—to treasure the memory that they had left behind.

After running from Michael, Castiel had wandered the Earth for days. He had stood on the streets of Times Square, the crowd milling all around him, yet leaving him feeling as alone as he did when he visited the quietest corners of the Earth- the snowy peaks of the Himalayas, the Saharan desert, the pristine rainforests of the Amazon basin- many of the places so desolate that they were untouched by even a single human.

He never stayed in one place for long. It was not so much from the fear of being found, but from the strange compulsion in him that drove him to keep moving— to keep running so that he wouldn’t have to think about everything that had happened to him.

However, Castiel had finally come to a stop, here on the edge of the Grand Canyon. He held the carving of Dean’s amulet up to the setting sun, watching the light play upon the metal, transforming the dull bronze of it into a deep burnished gold.

He didn’t want to think of Dean because it hurt too much, and yet at the same time, all Castiel wanted to think about was him. There was a deep ache inside him… in whatever it was that angels had in place of a soul.

Castiel had been prepared to choose torture and a slow, painful death over forgetting Dean… but now some part of him wished that he had never even met Dean. Never fallen in love with him at all. He never knew it could hurt _so much_ , a visceral agony like some vital part of him had been carved out, the world around him becoming empty and cold. Everything felt… hollow. Like there was a void inside of him where there had once been happiness and warmth.

Why had nobody ever warned him that love could be so painful? How did the humans do it? How could they so thoughtlessly and carelessly give themselves over- let other people into their hearts, knowing how much it’d hurt when those people were gone? How did they bear it? How did they carry on with their lives afterwards, when everything was gone? How did they keep going on?

Even in his most desperate moments, even when Castiel had thought all was lost, when Raphael had tortured him and Castiel thought the pain would never end, Castiel had never uttered a single word of prayer. What was the point? Castiel knew that nobody would answer.

But now, unbidden, the words spilled from Castiel’s lips, uncontrollable and layered with incredible sorrow, “This pain…. inside of me. Father, please… make it stop. Please bring Dean back. That’s all I’m asking for. That’s all I’ll ever ask you for. I’ve never asked a single thing of you in my entire existence. Just—” Castiel swallowed the sob that threatened to rise up in his throat. “Just bring him back. Please. I’ll do anything, I’ll give anything— I’ll be your most faithful servant. I’ll go to Naomi myself. I’ll turn myself over. You want my life? Take it. I don’t care what happens to me. As long as you bring Dean back, you can do whatever you want to me-” Castiel drew a deep, shuddering breath. His next words were barely more than a whisper, “-just bring him back, Father. _Please_.”

He stood there, motionless and silent, tears rolling slowly down his cheeks.

Castiel waited like that, for a very long while. But the only answer he ever received was the whistling of the wind.

God was gone… or if He was still around, He simply did not care enough to intervene. It was nothing less than Castiel had expected, but that did not make it any less painful.

Closing his eyes, Castiel brought Dean’s amulet to his mouth, gently pressing it to his trembling lips. His cheeks were wet with tears.

The amulet was cold against his lips. The grace in it was gone. It was nothing but a piece of metal now. Just a shell. Just like what Dean’s body had become.

Once, Castiel had thought that the love he felt for Dean was the greatest thing that he could ever feel. Now, all Castiel wanted was to be rid of the pain. All he wanted to do was forget.

Castiel stepped to the edge of the rock shelf, so close to the drop that the slightest shift in his balance would have sent him tumbling off it. His blade slipped into his left hand.

Castiel allowed himself one small weakness. He allowed himself to think about Dean one last time, even though it hurt.

He thought of Dean’s laughter as they had washed his beloved car, the way his eyes had lit up when he threw a snowball at Castiel—the sweet, tender way Dean had smiled before leaning in to kiss him once upon a golden Thursday afternoon…

He thought of the promise he had made Dean. To fall and become human. To live a mortal life beside him, painful, short and bloody, but nevertheless _theirs_.

That future was no longer possible, and he could see now that it had only ever been wishful thinking—Falling without losing his memories? Somehow magically obtaining a human body of his own? It was completely impossible. It went against all sense and logic. From the start, it should have been plain to see that it was nothing but a fool’s fantasy. And yet Castiel had believed in it anyway. Even the most paper thin of lies would ring of truth to someone who wanted so desperately to believe.

Now… nothing was left but the bitter truth. Dean was gone and only Michael remained. But what Castiel planned to do could perhaps go some way towards honoring Dean’s memory.

Slowly, Castiel let go of Dean’s amulet, allowing it to slip from his fingers.

The fading rays of the sun caught the amulet as it fell into the depths of the canyon. The light winked off the metal as it spun through the air, a small, rapidly dwindling speck that soon disappeared from even Castiel’s angelic sight.

A powerful sense of loss and regret swamped him, but Castiel pushed it away. Taking a deep breath, he drew back his blade.

He prepared to cut away his grace. To fall—

Something caught his arm, and Castiel’s eyes flew open as his blade was abruptly wrenched out of his fingers.

Dean was glaring at him, green eyes furious.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he said.

“Dean,” Castiel said, surprised, the name slipping out before he could even think about it. Then he remembered, and he hated himself for making that slip. Voice tight, he said, “Michael,” and yanked his arm free from the archangel’s grasp.

“I thought it should be obvious,” he continued stiffly, “You of all people should be familiar with the process.”

“Yeah,” Michael growled, with surprising emotion. “I know what falling looks like. How could you be so fucking stupid?”

He glared at Castiel, furious. Castiel had never seen the archangel so emotional before. Castiel knew that Michael’s anger had always run cold. A hot temper was more of Dean’s thing.

At the thought of Dean, Castiel felt another sharp stab of pain lance through him. Furious, he glared back at Michael.

“Why are you here, Michael?” he said, voice curt, “Have you not taken enough from me already? Have you not hurt me enough? Or are you here to stop me from falling?”

Castiel glared up at Michael defiantly. “Well, then kill me now as our Father would wish, before I commit a further act of disobedience. After all, that’s what you do, isn’t it?”

Castiel thought of Lucifer, Uriel, Raphael, and Zachariah. The coldly cruel way Michael had cut them down. Certainly they had deserved it, but that didn’t make it any less awful… and finally, the words that Castiel had been thinking all along -ever since that day when Michael spoke about casting down Lucifer and _smiled_ \- came tumbling out.

“You kill your brothers for their disobedience, without even a shred of remorse. You plan the destruction of millions of innocent lives without the slightest trace of guilt. You would raze this Earth, Our Father’s most beautiful creation, and you would feel _nothing_. The monsters that the Winchesters hunt- the vampires and werewolves and skinwalkers—they all do terrible things, but they do it out of instinct, out of their basic nature.

“But you, Michael… you do monstrous things, and all the while you think that you are right. That what you do is just. _You_ are the true monster.” Eyes burning, Castiel spat, “ _I hate you, you heartless bastard._ ”

There was a strange expression on Michael’s face, something almost like hurt, but Castiel paid it no mind.

Instead he made a grab for his angel blade, still clutched in Michael’s hand. Michael twisted away easily.

“Give it back to me!” Castiel screamed. Tears were blurring his vision, making it hard for him to see, but still he lunged at Michael, trying to tear the blade from the archangel’s grasp.

“Cas, stop it!” Michael shouted. He dodged away from Castiel, holding Castiel’s blade out of his reach.

“Don’t you dare call me that!”

A savage fury rose in Castiel. He would have hit Michael, but at the sight of the archangel, Castiel’s breath caught in his throat and his fist stilled. Michael still looked so much like Dean, and that was the worst part. Castiel could never bear to hurt Dean, not really.

Instead, he flew at Michael with a scream of rage, trying once more to snatch the angel blade from him, but before he could reach the archangel, Michael flung Castiel’s blade away. It went sailing off into the air, tumbling down into the depths of the canyon.

Castiel would have thrown himself after his blade, but Michael grappled him into a hold from behind that was almost like a full body hug. He pulled Castiel close against his chest. Castiel struggled against him, kicking and screaming, lashing out like a wild animal. Michael’s grace was pressing in on him, holding him down, an overpowering force against which Castiel could never win.

It was pointless to fight. Castiel knew that. Yet still he resisted, pushing back at Michael with his own grace, biting and kicking and scratching at whatever he could reach, all the while screaming in mindless rage and cursing at Michael, calling him a monster.

All through this, Michael held onto him silently. His grip was firm and steady, not faltering for a single second, even when Castiel snapped his wings out and beat hard, buffeting them both with the force of his wing beats.

He just held Castiel close, folding his own great wings around them, taking all of Castiel’s blows without a single flinch. Castiel might as well be fighting a statue, trying to bleed a stone.

_Dean_. Castiel wanted Dean. So very badly. But all that was left was Michael. Michael, the hateful, cruel tyrant who had destroyed the man Castiel loved and taken his place.

A cry of anger tore itself from Castiel’s throat and he began to struggle with renewed vigor. He threw his grace against Michael’s violently, slamming himself with vicious force against the immovable wall of power that was the archangel’s grace. It hurt, it really hurt, but it was nothing compared to what Castiel felt at the thought of Dean being gone.

“Give him back to me!” Tears were streaming down his face as Castiel screamed, “Give him back, GIVE HIM BACK—”

“Cas! STOP! Please, you’re hurting yourself!”

Castiel did not listen. He continued to throw himself against Michael’s grace, feeling the agony surge through him as he was slammed back, again and again. There was no elegance to his attacks, no strategy, just brute force and wild, mindless savagery. Why he was fighting, he did not know—all he knew was the anger and hurt and despair surging through him… and above all that, his desperate longing for Dean.

“Give Dean back! GIVE HIM BACK, _DAMN YOU_ —”

“Cas! _CAS!_ Listen to me, stop fighting- it’s me, alright? It’s me. Dean.”

Abruptly, Castiel felt himself being spun around to face Michael.

Michael’s hands were gripped around his arms like vices, and the archangel’s face was filled with emotion- sorrow and concern. His green eyes were heavy with pain.

In that moment, all Castiel could see was Dean.

This new depth of cruelty drove the breath from Castiel’s lungs. He stopped struggling and sagged back limply, squeezing his eyes shut against the tears that were welling up unstoppably.

“No… no…” he said dully, “You’re lying…”

“What would I have to gain from lying about this?” Michael said, frustration plain in his tone. “Cas, come on! Look at me- it’s me, I swear— will you just look at me?”

Castiel shook his head angrily, eyes still squeezed shut. He started to struggle again.

But he stilled at the touch of lips to his.

Against his will, his lips softened against Michael’s as he lost himself in the kiss. It felt so good. So familiar and comforting. With his eyes closed like this, it felt almost as if it was really Dean who was kissing him. It was weak of him, but Castiel let the kiss continue, unable to bring himself to shatter the illusion.

Finally, Michael broke the kiss. Castiel’s eyes opened and he found Michael staring at him, his green eyes shining with emotion. Releasing one of Castiel’s arms, Michael brought his hand up to cup Castiel’s face. His touch was so gentle.

“Would Michael have done that? The old Michael?” he said. “It’s me, Cas. I’m still Dean. I may be an angel now, but I’m still Dean.”

Castiel stared at him wordlessly. Could it be? Could Michael be telling the truth?

Hope- cruel, traitorous hope- was beginning to rise in him. Castiel wanted so badly to believe… but what if this was all just another trick?

Castiel still remembered how easily Michael had pretended to be human in front of the other angels. On his knees before Raphael, ‘Dean’ had smiled at Castiel, soft and bittersweet, as sad and resigned if he had truly been going to his death.

Mere minutes later, he had ruthlessly destroyed Raphael and Zachariah. Castiel remembered the chilling, cruelly pleased smile on Michael’s face when he had stabbed Raphael and twisted the blade in. He had been wearing that very same smile when he had reduced Zachariah to his constituent atoms with a single snap of his fingers.

Castiel still didn’t know why Michael had pretended to be human. Perhaps it was all part of his grand plan- Michael had always been a master of the long game- a way for him to expose Raphael’s treachery. Or perhaps he had simply been pretending to be human for his own cruel amusement, delighting in the shock on Raphael and Zachariah’s faces when he finally revealed his true colors and slayed them.

Michael had fooled them all once, who was to say he wasn’t doing it again? Who knows what he had to gain from tricking Castiel other than some malicious sense of satisfaction, but Michael’s reasons had always been unfathomable.

Michael must have read the doubt in Castiel’s expression. His brows furrowed into a frown.

“Why won’t you believe me?” Michael’s tone was colored with exasperated frustration. “What do I have to do to convince you? Sing you a ballad? Slow dance with you on a moonlit beach as waves gently caress the shore and rose petals slowly drift by on the sea breeze? C’mon, Cas. I’ll even write you a friggin’ poem if you want.”

Castiel just stared at him uncomprehendingly. “Why would I want a poem? How is a poem supposed to convince me that you are Dean? Dean dislikes poetry. Also, roses do not generally grow by the sea. The climate and ecology are not conducive—”

“Arghhh,” Michael let out an extremely uncharacteristic inarticulate noise of frustration.

Before Castiel could even protest, he was grabbing Castiel and kissing him again. But it was more than just a kiss this time. Suddenly, images were rushing into his mind. Colors and sounds and all the emotions that accompanied them.

A memory, Castiel realized. Michael’s memory.

The first thing that came to him was the smell of sun-warmed leather and gasoline. Slowly, Castiel recognized the familiar surroundings.

He was in the front seat of the Impala, left hand clutched tightly around the steering wheel. The leather was practically creaking under the force of his grip. In his other hand was his amulet. It was getting alarmingly warm—he could feel the raw power of it, threatening to burst out.

His heart was pounding in his chest, and he was so very afraid. Every bit of him was screaming at him not to do this.

But he had to. He had to save Cas. This was the only way. It didn’t matter what happened to him afterwards… It didn’t matter if nothing of him remained in the end… All he hoped for was that he could hold onto himself long enough to get this done. That enough of him would remain after he took back his grace so that Michael would save Cas. That was all that mattered to him.

He had to save Cas. That was the thought he held onto as he lifted his amulet up with trembling fingers and put it to his mouth. He concentrated on that thought fiercely, willing himself to remember, to sear it into his very essence. If nothing else of himself remained after he took back his grace, at least this had to.

He could feel the binding spells on the amulet beginning to collapse. Incredibly bright light was seeping out from the surface of the metal. The bluish-white light felt at once foreign and intimately familiar. It drifted like smoke, slow, lazy curls, but he could feel the sheer power in it.

He breathed in deeply and the light rushed towards him—

_Cas_ , he thought, squeezing his eyes shut in fierce concentration, _I’m doing this for Cas… Remember that. Remember Cas…_

The power was pouring into him, changing him. He could feel it winding through his bones, his flesh, remaking him into something better, stronger… but also so much further from human.

His mind was expanding, knowledge pouring into him along with the rush of Michael’s memories. This was nothing like the dreams he had been having. The memories rushed in, all at once, and it was like a torrent, washing away his very sense of self. He could feel himself slipping.

_Cas_ , he thought desperately. _I have to remember Cas._

**He stood before God, humbled in the Almighty’s presence. His heart was heavy with sorrow, but he knew his duty. “I will do as you ask, Father,” he said, and his voice was resolute though the words were hard to come, “I will cast Lucifer down to the Pit—”**

_The shade of Cas’s eyes—a vivid cornflower blue when the light hit them just the right way… the way the corner of his eyes crinkled when the angel smiled one of those rare smiles that he liked to think Cas reserved just for him…_

**“We must do this, Gabriel,” he said, watching dispassionately as a look of horror ghosted across Gabriel’s face, just for a second. “Our Father is gone, but we must carry on His work. He will return to us once I have brought about Paradise. You’ll see.”**

**Gabriel turned away from him, disgust growing in the younger archangel’s eyes.**

**He knew that Gabriel disagreed. But his brother would see. They would all see, eventually. He would _make_ them see…**

_Snowflakes falling all around him. His breath fogging around his face. Spitting snow from his mouth. Cas laughing as he ducked behind the Impala, the adorable, cheeky little shit—_

**He watched as the cupid loosed his arrow into John Winchester’s heart. The human gazed towards Mary Campbell, eyes softening with growing affection. He smiled, slow and pleased. All the pieces were falling into place. Everything was going according to plan— a plan that would play itself out perfectly….**

Michael’s memories were coming faster and faster now, an unceasing torrent that battered at him and threatened to pull him under.

**Letting Azazel find the doorway to Lucifer’s cage… Doing nothing as the demon murdered eight nuns and knelt before an altar, asking the Devil how to free him…**

_Cas…_

**Smiling at Raphael, telling him to have faith. That what they were doing was God’s will… They weren’t _starting_ the Apocalypse, they were just letting it happen, allowing things to take their natural course… It was all just part of the divine plan…**

There was no end to the memories. It was too much. He was drowning in the deluge. He could feel himself losing ground. Becoming Michael again, the ever dutiful, ever obedient son, loyal to an absent Father.

All the things he cherished and held close to his heart- the smell of the Impala’s leather seats, the roar of her engine as they cruised down the interstate… the taste of his mom’s tomato-rice soup, the soft, sweet way she sang to him when he was scared or sad... All the faces of the people he loved and cared for. Mom and Dad, Jo and Ellen, Bobby… Sam… _Cas—_ They were all slipping away from him, leeched away like color from an old photograph, fading into grey. He tried so hard to cling onto them, but the part of him that still cared was growing smaller and smaller by the second.

Deep down, he knew he was losing the fight.

He was being whittled down, pared away, until nothing but the barest trace of Dean Winchester remained. Just the tiniest sliver of humanity— an insignificant, pitiful little speck against the mighty force that was Saint Michael the Archangel, Prince of Heaven and the Commander of the Heavenly Host.

How could he win? How had he ever thought that he could win?

Hopelessness surged in him, coupled with sorrow.

You can’t fight City Hall. End of the line, Dean.

_This is it_ , he thought. _It’s over._ _This is the end of me. The end of Dean Winchester._

And strangely, he was starting to find that he didn’t really care very much at all.

Why had he been trying so hard to hold on to those memories, anyway? They were just memories of the human he had been. He was an angel now- Michael the Archangel- and the life he had led as a human was of no import.

What Gabriel had done to him was a setback, admittedly- and he would ensure that his wayward younger brother received the punishment he deserved, in time- but he was back to himself now and at full power.

In fact, Gabriel had done him a _favor_. Now he no longer needed to get a human to consent to being his vessel, with all the attendant trouble that entailed. Humans were a stubborn lot, and they had an annoying tendency of going against the divine plan.

There was still the matter of Lucifer’s vessel, of course. Nevertheless, he had ways of ensuring cooperation, if worst came to worst. Some small part of him, buried deep down inside, cried out at the thought of Sam Winchester (a small grubby face staring up at him, reaching down to wipe the tears away… _I’ve got you, Sammy_ … _It’s Sammy, I gotta protect Sammy…_ )but he silenced that tiny voice and hastily pushed it away.

He was Michael the Archangel and he had no need for human brothers. The only family that mattered to him now was that of God.

He would return to Heaven and see that order was restored. The Apocalypse would continue as planned, and he would make sure that all his siblings fell in line. Including that strange little malakh, Castiel…

He had to confess that he had a slight … interest … in Castiel. An inexplicable fascination that had arisen ever since the day the younger angel had dared to look him in the eye, disgust plain in his expression. He still did not know why he hadn’t punished Castiel for that blatant show of disrespect, but something, some strange emotion, had made him stay his hand.

Instead he had watched Castiel over the years. Always he wondered about the strange illogicality of his actions, but he was never able to come up with any definite answer as to why he had been so disinclined to punish the other angel.

Even now he found that the idea of smiting Castiel for his disobedience did not quite sit right with him either, grave though Castiel’s sins were. Maybe it was some lingering sentiment, some not quite completely purged trace of the weak human he had once been. Nevertheless, regardless of the source of this strangely merciful impulse, he would attempt to speak to Castiel, persuade him to see that following the divine plan was the only right way. He was sure that in time, Castiel would come to his senses…

… well, that is, if Raphael hadn’t tortured him to death already. Given the amount of time that had already elapsed, there was a distinct possibility that Castiel was long dead.

Suddenly, a savage ache ripped through him. He found himself gasping for air, wings flaring uncontrollably, his fingers clenching tight around the metal of Dean Winchester’s amulet. What was happening to him? What—?

Unbidden, a memory surfaced.

_“I love you, Dean,” Cas said, a tender smile playing on his lips._

_It was the first time either of them had ever mentioned the ‘L’ word, and Dean froze in shock, his eyes widening._

_It was pretty damn obvious that Cas loved him— the guy did spout all that incredibly corny stuff about protecting Dean to his dying breath. But still, hearing it said out loud somehow made it so much more... real._

_Cas, brave, weird, awesome, stupidly loyal Cas—_ loved him _. It drove the breath from Dean’s lungs, filling his chest with warmth._

_““I… I love you too, Cas,” Dean finally allowed himself to say, his voice coming out soft and hesitant at first, then growing in conviction as he gazed into Cas’s warm blue eyes, emotion swelling in him. “I love you so much.”_

_And Cas had looked at him as if Dean was the most precious thing in the world. He had leaned in to take Dean’s face in his hands and he had kissed Dean in the golden warmth of that beautiful Thursday afternoon, sweet and slow…_

_And all Dean could think was:_ How am I so lucky? How did I ever come to deserve this?

_Cas had given up everything for him, he had chosen Dean over all he had ever known, and Dean loved him so very, very much—_

And suddenly he was back in the Impala, gripping his head in his hands. His amulet was lying on the footwell of the car, where it had fallen when he dropped it.

He picked the amulet up, the love he felt for Cas still surging strong through him-it was just as real as all his memories of being Michael, just as real as the wings he now had. The love he felt for Cas- stupid, brave, loyal Cas- it was just as much a part of him as his own grace.

He still felt the clash and shift within him as he struggled to reconcile the two halves of himself— Was he Michael? Or was he Dean? It was pretty hard to tell.

There was still a part of him that believed that he had always been right, that the Apocalypse had to happen for the greater good of them all—but a much larger part of him now realized- if being human had taught him anything, it was that there were more important things than duty. Things like family and choice and love.

Maybe he didn’t know who he was really… at least not yet. However there was one thing he did know. He loved Castiel, and he would do anything to save him. When it came down to it, he would always choose Cas. Even if he did not know anything else, this was something that he would always know.

Amulet clasped tightly in his hand, he spread his wings and prepared to take flight—

Castiel came back to reality as the kiss ended, and along with it the memory.

Dean was looking at him, and it _was_ Dean, Castiel realized.

Only Dean could look so hesitant and hopeful, just like the time he had handed Castiel a trench coat, rambling on about park flashers and weed in his worry that Castiel wouldn’t like his gift.

“Dean…” Castiel said, soft and reverent, and Dean’s face split into a broad grin of pure relief and joy, an echo of the very same emotions that were surging in Castiel’s chest.

“Hey Cas,” he said quietly. There was something strangely shy about his tone, as if he was greeting Castiel for the first time. He looked at Castiel from beneath lowered lashes. “So uh, you believe it’s me now?”

“Yes,” said Castiel, “You made a very convincing argument.” He paused for a beat before continuing in the same serious tone, “But perhaps some more argument is required for my complete belief.”

“Huh?” Dean’s face was scrunched up in confusion. It was extremely endearing.

Castiel chuckled, grinning, before grabbing Dean into a kiss, startling a laugh out of the other angel. Dean’s lips kept twitching into a smile even as he tried to kiss back, and finally when he pulled away, he said, “You’re such a dork.”

“It takes one to know one,” said Castiel. When Dean laughed, Castiel felt happiness fill him, the pure and simple joy of knowing that Dean was here, alive, and still himself.

“I thought you were never gonna believe me.” Dean shook his head, smiling with fond exasperation. “You’re one stubborn son of a bitch, you know that?”

Castiel was abruptly reminded of the reason why they had gotten into this mess in the first place, and despite his burgeoning happiness, a scowl slipped onto his face.

“Maybe you shouldn’t have deceived us about taking your grace back then, you colossal ass-butt _.”_ He shot Dean an accusing glare. “I believe the humans have a morality tale for this exact situation. The boy who cried wolf? Tell me—how did you expect me to believe you readily, after your prior deception?”

Dean’s eyebrows were raised. “Ass-butt?” he said, giving Castiel a look of incredulity.

Castiel ignored that. “Why did you pretend to be human, Dean?”

Dean shrugged, grinning. “I figured I’d play along first. Keep my cards close to my chest, y’know? Suss out the situation before I showed my hand. My gut was telling me that Raphael might try something- he always had a bit of a complex, middle child syndrome and all that…” Dean made a face, waving a hand flippantly, “…and well, I was entirely right, wasn’t I?”

Dean’s ensuing smirk carried an unmistakable overtone of smugness; it was practically screaming ‘I told you so’.

“But to be entirely honest with you, mostly I just wanted to fuck with Zachariah. The instant I saw that smug smile on his stupid weasel face, I knew I had to get one over on him. I always did find him incredibly annoying, even back when I used to be a huge dick myself. He was such a toady. Lips practically superglued to my ass.” Dean sniggered at his own joke. “Seriously, it was like trying to pry off a lamprey.”

Castiel scowled at Dean, completely unamused.

Dean just grinned back at him, completely unrepentant. “Don’t tell me it wasn’t all kinds of satisfying, seeing the look on that douchebag’s face when I cut him down to size.”

Castiel glared at Dean, arms crossed. “No,” was all he said, tone steely.

“C’mon. The bastard totally deserved it after all the shit he pulled. And you gotta admit, it was at least a little cathartic. Right?”

“No.”

“Not even a little?” Dean wheedled, a winning grin plastered all over his face.

“No,” Castiel repeated again, stone-faced, but after a few seconds he finally conceded, “Perhaps… a little,” before adding with a glare, “But it was cruel, Dean. And it doesn’t make you any less of an awful ass-butt.”

“Awww, _Cas_.” Dean put a hand to his heart, widening his eyes exaggeratedly and giving Castiel a wounded look. “That hurt. Like a holy fire Molotov to the heart.”

He gave Castiel a wide, faux-innocent grin. “But well, I’m still _your_ ass-butt, aren’t I?”

“That you are,” Castiel said solemnly.

Chuckling, Dean leaned forward to press a little kiss to Castiel’s nose.

Castiel let him, and his lips twitched into a small smile in spite of himself. He could never stay mad at Dean for long, as infuriating as Dean could be on occasion.

“Fly with me?” Smiling, Dean wiggled his fingers at Castiel.

“Of course,” Castiel replied and he reached out for Dean’s hand.

Gently, Dean took Castiel’s hand in his, and then he launched them into flight with one powerful beat of his wings.

Less than a second later, they landed in an empty motel room.

It was obviously Dean’s. His clothes were strewn around on the floor next to the bed, and there was a stack of empty pie tins on the nightstand, crumbs scattered all around them.

In other words, Dean’s room was in the exact state that his part of the room always was in if neither Sam nor Castiel bothered to nag him or clean up after him. Castiel had never thought that there would be the day when seeing a mess-strewn cheap motel room could be so comforting.

“I’m surprised that you’re still staying in a place like this,” he remarked, “Sleazy wayside motels are a little… beneath the Prince of the Heavenly Host, I would think.”

“What can I say?” Dean said with a shrug, grinning. “Some old habits die hard.”

Looking out of the motel window, Castiel spied the sleek silhouette of a very familiar black car.

“You brought your car along,” Castiel said, though he was not very surprised.

“Yeah,” said Dean, grinning, “Couldn’t leave my Baby behind. I mean, the whole instant teleporting thing is cool and all, but it’s not really the same, is it?”

“No, it isn’t,” Castiel agreed. He felt a flutter of fondness at the thought of Dean and his ridiculous obsession with his beloved car. “Looks like you haven’t changed very much at all.”

“Maybe,” said Dean. There was a glint of something delightfully wicked in his eyes as he added, “Or maybe not.”

He spread his wings, all three pairs of them, the perfect golden feathers glowing with brilliant light. Castiel’s breath caught at the sight, and Dean grinned, looking terribly pleased with himself.

“I want you, Cas,” he said, and his voice was low, almost a growl. It made Castiel shiver in anticipation, an uncontrollable tremor going through his wings.

Dean surged forward. He kissed Castiel hungrily, deep and long, leaving Castiel breathing heavily, aching for more. He could feel his body responding, cock hardening at the thought of Dean’s flesh against his.

“Bed,” Dean growled, and then in a flap of Dean’s wings, they were on the bed, Castiel lying back on the covers as Dean straddled him. Dean got Castiel’s dress pants down easily enough. But when he tried to get his own jeans open, he somehow managed to get the zipper stuck, and he began yanking at it forcefully. However, despite all of Dean’s increasingly frustrated attempts at fumbling with the zipper, he still could not get it to budge an inch. It was something so endearingly awkward and human that it startled a laugh out of Castiel.

“Shut up,” said Dean, without heat. There was a flare of grace and suddenly, they were both completely naked, clothing piled up neatly on the chair next to the bed. Dean waggled his fingers, smirking. “Archangel powers are _awesome_.”

Then Dean’s fingers were buried in Castiel’s wings, tugging ever so lightly at the feathers, making Castiel moan, his hips bucking upwards involuntarily.

He reached out to bury his own fingers in the nearest part he could reach of Dean’s massive golden wings. Dean groaned in pleasure, his fingers clenching down harder on Castiel’s own wings. The sight of Dean, eyes closed in bliss, sent a wave of desire through Castiel.

“I want you to fuck me,” Castiel said, and Dean looked at him, surprised.

“Wow. That was, uh… pretty direct. Even for you.” He chuckled. “Are you sure? We’ve never done that before.”

“Yes,” said Castiel, meeting Dean’s eyes firmly. Dean didn’t seem very convinced, and so Castiel added, for the sake of clarity, “I am sure. Absolutely certain, in fact. My intentions at this point, I believe, are beyond doubt. They are exceedingly clear. Or as you like to put it— _‘crystal’_.” He gave Dean a pointed look. “I trust I have gotten my point across?”

Dean raised an eyebrow. “That was a whole lotta words for ‘get the fuck on with it already’.” A smirk slipped onto his lips. “Well, what can I say? I like a man who knows what he wants.”

And then without further ado, he was kissing his way down Castiel’s throat, alternatively sucking and nipping at the skin lightly with his teeth. One of his hands reached out towards Castiel’s nipples and he started playing with each of them in turn, rubbing them lightly between his fingers. At the same time, Castiel felt a finger circling his asshole, teasing him, maddeningly slow. It was just about as excruciating as it was delightful.

“ _Dean_ ,” Castiel growled. “ _Get the fuck on with it already._ ”

“Alright, alright,” Dean said, lifting his head up to grin at Castiel. “Jeez, somebody’s impatient. Hold your horses, cowboy. I’m getting onto it.”

He raised a hand and a bottle of lube came hurtling across the room and into his hand. He squeezed some out onto his palm, rubbing his hands to warm it up, and finally, after what seemed like an eternity of waiting, Castiel felt himself being breached by a slick finger.

Dean pushed into him, slowly at first then with more force as Castiel grunted, rolling his hips insistently, until Dean finally got the message. Castiel could feel the stretch of it, tight but not uncomfortable. It wasn’t exactly pleasurable, at least not until Dean added in a second, then third finger, and he started moving them around, as if searching for something.

He must have found it, because in the next second, Castiel felt a surge of pleasure go through him.

“Oh,” he said, somewhat dazedly. “That’s uh… nice.”

“Oh?” Dean said, smirking. He moved his fingers again, brushing against that spot, and Castiel practically arched off the bed, an incredibly powerful surge of pleasure going through him. He lay back, panting, after the pleasure had faded a little, and he opened his eyes to find Dean staring at him hungrily, his eyes dark with lust. His cock, thick and erect, lay against his stomach, the head slick with pre-come.

“I’m ready now,” Castiel said, and Dean shuddered with obvious arousal, his wings trembling.

He withdrew his fingers from Castiel’s ass, and then he was pushing in, his cock sliding in with one smooth thrust. Castiel grunted as Dean moved inside him. Then Dean’s cock found the same spot that his fingers had, and he was hitting it, over and over again as Castiel moaned, his vision nearly whiting out with pleasure, his fingers clutching desperately at Dean’s wings.

Dean shuddered at that, feathers trembling under Castiel’s fingers. His thrusts sped up, and he reached down to put a hand on Castiel’s cock, pumping Castiel with quick, hard strokes as Castiel gasped and let out soft, helpless whimpers.

Castiel felt the warmth of Dean’s grace twining around his, incredibly powerful and ever so beautiful. As it pressed against him, Castiel could feel the very essence of Dean, the way Dean loved him so deeply and honestly that it suffused every part of him. He could feel the way how a small part of Dean still could not quite believe his fortune, continually astounded and desperately grateful that someone as good and precious as Castiel could love him back, despite all his flaws and all the things he had done, the mistakes he had made in both of his lives- as an archangel and a human.

Castiel pressed his own grace around Dean’s, knowing that Dean would be able to feel him just as Castiel felt Dean. He let Dean feel all the love Castiel had for him, the way Castiel knew with an ironclad certainty that Dean was worth it, worth anything, and the way that Castiel would always love him unconditionally, with all his heart, no matter whether Dean was an angel or human. Yes, Dean had done terrible things in his past as Michael—but he had won through in spite of them. He had chosen a new path. He had chosen humanity. He had chosen _Castiel._ And Castiel loved him so much for it.

In those moments as their grace came together, Castiel knew all of Dean, just as Dean knew all of him, and it was the most incredible feeling in the world.

They chased climax together, bodies moving against each other, grace intertwined, and when Dean came, yelling Castiel’s name, Castiel felt it too, the pleasure of it echoing across their mingled grace. It hit him like a shock of lightning, incredibly powerful, and then Castiel was coming too, yelling out Dean’s names, both of them, before slumping back, boneless, into the bed, trembling with the intensity of the sensation.

Eventually, Dean roused himself from his blissed-out stupor, pulling out of Castiel. After pressing a light kiss to Castiel’s forehead, Dean rolled off his chest. With a lazy flick of Dean’s hand, they were both clean, the sweat and sticky aftermath of their earlier exertions completely vanished from their bodies. Castiel noted with some amusement that they both smelled faintly of Dean’s favorite soap and shampoo.

Dean snuggled his face into the crook of Castiel’s neck, nuzzling against Castiel affectionately and letting Castiel lean back to spoon against him.

They stayed like that for a long time, Dean pressed against Castiel’s side, their wings draped lazily over each other. Dean had been idly trailing a finger over Castiel’s chest, tracing random Enochian sigils into his skin. There was no meaning or pattern to the symbols Dean was drawing, but nevertheless Castiel found the motion strangely soothing.

“What will you do now?” Castiel said eventually.

Dean’s finger stilled where it had been tracing the symbol for Ceph onto Castiel’s chest.

Castiel turned over to face him.

Dean’s brows were furrowed, his lips slightly downturned in the way that indicated he was deep in thought. However, when Dean noticed Castiel’s gaze on him, all the pensiveness left him in a flash and he broke into a bright, playful grin.

“You mean, other than lie here and cuddle? I was thinking maybe round two? Once you feel up to it again. Angel sex is _awesome_. It’s a wonder there isn’t more cloud-seeding going on upstairs, you know what I mean? The others have no idea what they’re missing out on.”

He paused for a beat, expression considering, before a smirk slid onto his face. It was the smirk Dean usually reserved for when he thought he was being especially witty. In a low, lascivious drawl, he said, “Hey, maybe this time we can try something new. I could be the cloud, and you could do the see-”

“ _Dean_.” Castiel gave Dean an extremely unimpressed look.

Dean being Dean, burst into raucous laughter at that, his eyes crinkling in playful mirth. Eventually though, his expression morphed into something more serious.

Somewhat reluctantly, he said, “Well, I suppose I’ll have to go back to Heaven eventually. Much as I hate to admit it, I do have some responsibilities.”

He made a disgusted face, and Castiel could not help but chuckle softly at that.

Dean grinned.

“I’ve gotta make some changes up there, get the other angels up to date on my new party line. Free will and making your own choices.” He sighed. “I think I’ll probably have a lot of work on my hands. After all the shit that went down with Raphael… I’m beginning to see that angels don’t really deal that well with not having someone to boss them around and tell them what to do. Guess we’re just not built that way.”

He sent a small, fond smile Castiel’s way. “You’re the exception.”

“But you chose free will in the end,” Castiel pointed out. “You chose to forego your destiny to end the Apocalypse and bring about Paradise. By that definition, _you_ are an exception too.”

“It’s not the same,” Dean said, “I fell and became human. That helped a lot. But you, Cas… you did it all by yourself.” He gazed at Castiel, soft pride shining in his eyes.

“You chose Dean Winchester the human, even though it meant turning against Heaven, even though it meant losing everything you had ever known. You were gonna give it up… your wings… hell, your _life—_ you would have given it all up, just for me. Just so that I could be happy. You’re exceptional, Cas, you know that? You really are. You’re absolutely amazing.”

Dean reached out to cup Castiel’s face in one hand. “God-” he let out a small, wondering sigh, “-how did I ever come to deserve someone like you?”

Castiel looked at Dean’s beloved face, warmth surging in his chest. “Let’s just say, Dean… you’re a very easy person to love,” he said softly.

Dean looked at Castiel with so much love in his eyes that it took Castiel’s breath away. He kissed Castiel again, and the passion in it left Castiel feeling a little dazed when they finally broke apart to gaze into each other’s eyes, smiling.

“We’ll have to go back upstairs someday,” Dean said, “But for now… Heaven can wait. I figure after everything that’s happened, we more than deserve a break. Maybe we can kick back in the Bahamas for a bit. Sip a few piña coladas. Get a nice tan. I’ve always wanted to go to the beach.”

He grinned at Castiel, chuckling, before saying, soft and earnest, “But yeah… you know me. I don’t really have a plan. We’re just gonna have to wing it, like we always do. Make it up as we go.”

Dean raised a hand to cup Castiel’s cheek. There was a small, tender smile playing on his lips. “I can’t say I know for sure where this road’s gonna lead us. But there _is_ one thing I do know…. I’ve got everything I want with me— right here, right now.”

Castiel leaned in to press a gentle kiss onto Dean’s lips. There was a warm touch of fingers against his back, the feel of Dean’s arm encircling his waist, pulling Castiel closer, snug against his side. Castiel leaned into the embrace, resting his head on Dean’s shoulder, face pressed into the crook of Dean’s neck.

On Castiel’s chest, right above his heart, Dean’s fingers traced out the Enochian sigils for _stay_ and _love._

In return, Castiel pressed a hand to Dean’s chest, feeling the warmth of Dean’s skin, the steady thrum of Dean’s heartbeat against his palm. Smiling, he raised his face so that he could hold Dean’s gaze as he gently traced out a single symbol.

_Yes._


	14. Chapter 14

**Epilogue**

They were in a diner. Sam was having his usual salad and Dean and Castiel were sharing a slice of apple pie à la Mode.

“I don’t get why you guys can’t just materialize your own food using your angel powers,” Sam said, “Instead of constantly eating on my dime.”

He gave Dean an accusing look. “If you can turn water to wine, surely you can make your own beer and apple pie? You don’t even help to hustle pool anymore.”

“As an archangel, I am morally obligated not to lie, cheat or steal,” Dean said, face straight, though Castiel knew that he was probably grinning inside, “And so I just make you do it instead.”

“You’re such a lazy ass,” Sam said, but he was smiling.

They continued to eat their food. For a while, there was nothing but the sounds of chewing and Dean’s hums of pleased contentment as he tucked into the apple pie.

Even as an angel, Dean still had just as much of a pie obsession as ever. Castiel had to admit that it was really rather endearing.

Smiling, Castiel just sat back and watched Dean eat. There was something very pleasing about the sight of Dean enjoying himself.

After a while though, Dean seemed to realize that Castiel was not helping himself to any of the pie that they were (nominally) sharing.

“Hey, Cas,” he said, raising his fork to indicate the half-eaten slice of pie. “Why aren’t you eating?”

“It’s okay, Dean,” Castiel said, “You can have the pie. I know you like it very much.”

Dean raised an eyebrow. “Nuh-uh, this is _our_ pie. You are having some.”

He speared a piece of the pie with his fork and waved it at Castiel. “Open up.”

Obligingly, Castiel opened his mouth and allowed Dean to feed him the pie. Whether by accident or Dean’s deliberate design (Castiel highly suspected the latter), a bit of the vanilla ice cream from the pie got smeared onto his upper lip.

With a smirk that was almost bordering on indecent, Dean reached out with a finger and wiped away the smudge of ice cream from Castiel’s lip. He then proceeded to lick the ice cream off his finger, slowly and without an ounce of self-consciousness.

Sam let out a tortured groan. “Urgh. _Please_ , guys. Save it for the bedroom! There are _children_ around.”

Still smirking, Dean turned to look at Sam. “Like yourself?”

A playful glint entered Dean’s eyes. “Y’know, I think it’s high time I explained a few things to you, little brother… You see, Sammy, when a man and another man love each other very much…”

Sam threw his hands up in exasperation. His ‘bitchface’ was on in full force. “Oh my god, how are you an archangel?”

Dean smiled sweetly. “Life’s full of mysteries like that. Just eat your salad, bitch.”

“Jerk,” Sam said, almost on automatic, and then he grinned.

Abruptly, there was a flutter of wings and their booth suddenly contained an extra archangel.

“Hey fellas,” Gabriel said, “How’s it hanging?” His eyes lit up. “Ooh, is that apple pie?”

He tried to snatch the slice of pie off the plate but Dean glared warningly at him and batted his hand away.

Gabriel just grinned at him, holding up his hands in mock surrender.

“You’re looking good, Mikey. I see you’ve managed to retain that wonderfully charming personality of yours despite getting your halo back. I pretty much guessed that was the case after I felt Raphael die and then a couple of days later, some idiot blacked out the entire Eastern seaboard after getting a little too…” he smirked, looking pointedly at Dean, “… _excited_.”

Dean’s cheeks flushed bright red even as he glared daggers at Gabriel. “It was an accident! I’d just gotten my grace back. It was hard to control-”

“Whatever you say, bro,” Gabriel said, waving a flippant hand at Dean. “I’m happy you crazy kids are having such a great time. Just try not to blow out entire states’ electrical networks next time, ‘kay? Anyway,” he grinned, “I popped by to offer my congratulations. No hard feelings, eh, Mikey?”

He beamed at Dean winningly.

Eyes narrowed in a glare, Dean huffed. “Yeah, whatever,” he said gruffly, “I guess it all worked out in the end, so I’ll go easy on you this time. But the next time you pull something like this again, I’m smiting you so hard they’ll be finding pieces of you in the Andromeda Galaxy.”

By now, Castiel was fluent enough at reading Dean to know that his outward show of bad temper was just that—a show. Inside, Dean was grateful, even if he showed it mostly by glaring grumpily at Gabriel and threatening him with grievous bodily harm.

Gabriel smirked. “I see getting laid regularly has made you a better person.” He did a little fist pump. “Score one for the power of love.”

Gabriel sobered for a moment, the playfulness slipping from his expression as it turned earnest.

“No, but seriously, I really am glad that you managed to find happiness in the end, Michael. It’s not easy for an angel to choose free will, especially one as blindly and bullheadedly obedient as you… but you did it. You turned against everything you once so fervently believed in, and you chose humanity. You chose love. And I’m proud of you for choosing that.”

He smiled at Dean, and Dean’s lips twitched into a small and reluctant but genuine smile.

“Even if it was mainly thanks to the undeniable magical power of our dear Cassie’s sweet ass,” Gabriel added, with an absolutely incorrigible smirk.

Sam, frozen in the act of putting a cup of coffee to his lips, promptly inhaled the liquid. He started to choke.

Putting two fingers to Sam’s forehead to stop the human from asphyxiating, Castiel narrowed his eyes and treated Gabriel to one of his stoniest glares, but Gabriel just shrugged and grinned at him faux innocently.

Dean was glaring at Gabriel murderously. “Urgh! I am _so_ gonna smite you, you little shit!” He shook a fist threateningly. “Maybe your _face_ would like to take a vacation to the Andromeda Galaxy!”

Castiel watched them bicker, shaking his head at their childishness. But when he took a long sip from Sam’s abandoned cup of coffee, it was really just to hide his smile.

 

\---

 

Dean and Castiel were at the Grand Canyon again, watching the sunrise.

“It really is beautiful,” Dean said wistfully. He turned to look at Castiel, a gentle smile playing on his lips. “I’m glad we could do this together.”

Castiel smiled back. “Me too.”                    

He pulled Dean in for a kiss, soft, sweet, and slow, burying his fingers in Dean’s hair. When they stopped, neither of them moved away. Instead, they stood there, eyes closed, their foreheads together and noses just touching, breathing in and out together, the soft light of dawn bathing their skin as the sun broke over the horizon.

“Hey Cas,” Dean said suddenly. “You ever heard of a game called catch and kiss?”

Castiel opened his eyes to see Dean grinning at him, eyes bright with playful mischief.

“No I haven’t,” he answered.

“Well, the name’s fairly self-explanatory,” Dean said.

Smirking, he let go of Castiel and walked towards the edge of the canyon.

His wings snapped out to their full span, sunlight glinting on the great golden expanse of them.

“Catch me if you can!” he called out as he took a running leap off the edge of the canyon, launching himself into the air. A few wing beats and he was off into the sky, laughing merrily.

Castiel shook his head in fond exasperation, a smile tugging at his lips. For all that Dean was now an archangel again, he could still be such a child at times. But that was just one of the many things Castiel loved so much about him.

A smile on his face, Castiel took a slow step off the ledge, letting gravity take hold of him and pull him down.

In the moment before he snapped his wings out, Castiel fell through the air, weightless. He luxuriated in the feeling of falling: the wind whistling through his hair and clothes… the rush of his pulse… the heady feeling of being gloriously, so very gloriously alive.

Then the wind caught his wings and he was flying— chasing Dean and his merry laughter as they soared together into the great blue beyond.

 

**The End**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thank you to everyone who's made it this far. Writing for the DCBB been a real exciting journey from start to finish, and I hope you guys had as much fun reading this story as I had writing it <3
> 
> Come find me on [tumblr](http://lyrial.tumblr.com/) if u wanna chat (or look at my glorious collection of cute animal picture reblogs). I don't bite, promise.
> 
> P.S Internet cookies, my respect, and a warm fuzzy feeling of satisfaction to anyone who can correctly guess which Dr Who episodes I drew inspiration from in writing this fic ;D (Hint: it's the tenth doctor)


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